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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
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https://archive.org/details/raemaekerscartoo00raem_0 


RAEMAEKERS’  CARTOONS 


Photograt>h  by  Miss  D.  Campion  Collier. 


RAEMAEKERS’ 

CARTOONS 


WITH  ACCOMPANYING  NOTES  BY 
WELL-KNOWN  ENGLISH  WRITERS 


WITH  AN  APPRKCIA'I  ION  FROM  II.  IT  ASQUI  I H, 
PRIME  MINISTER  OF  ENGEAND 


GARDEN  CITY  NEW  YORK 

DOURLEDAY,  PAGE  & COMI^ANY 

1017 


Copyright,  igi6,  by 
Doubleday,  Page  & Company 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 
translation  into  foreign  languages, 
including  the  Scandinavian 


List  of  Cartoons  and  the 
Descriptive  Notes 


PAGE 


Portrait  of  Louis  Raemaekers  - - - - 

Introduction  ------- 

An  Appreciation  from  the  Prime  Minister  - 
Christendom  After  Twenty  Centuries 

Francis  Stopford 
H.  H.  Asquith 
Francis  Stopford 

8 

A Stable  Peace  - - - - 

- 

- 

Eden  Phillpotts 

10 

The  Massacre  of  the  Innocents  - 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

12 

Bernhardiism  - - - - 

- 

- 

Hilaire  Belloc 

14 

From  Liege  to  Aix-La-Chapelle  - 

- 

- 

Francis  Stopford 

16 

Spoils  for  the  V ictors  - - - 

- 

- 

Hilaire  Belloc 

18 

The  Very  Stones  Cry  Out  - 

- 

- 

Bernard  Vaughan,  S.  J. 

20 

Satan’s  Partner  - - - - 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

22 

Thrown  to  the  Swine  - - - 

- 

- 

The  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s 

24 

The  Land  Mine  - - - - 

- 

- 

Herbert  Warren 

26 

“For  Your  Motherland” 

- 

- 

Eden  Phillpotts 

28 

The  German  Loan  - - - 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

30 

Europe,  1916  - - - - 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

32 

The  Next  to  Be  Kicked  Out  - Dumba’s 

Master  - 

Arthur  Pollen 

34 

The  Friendly  Visitor  - 

- 

- 

H.  DeVere  Stacpoole 

36 

“To  Your  Health,  Civilization!” 

- 

- 

The  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s 

38 

Fox  Tirpitz  Preaching  to  the  Geese 

- 

- 

Herbert  Warren 

40 

The  Prisoners  - - - _ 

- 

- 

Eden  Phillpotts 

42 

It’s  Unbelievable  - - . 

- 

- 

Hilaire  Belloc 

44 

Kreuzland,  Kreuzland  Uber  Alles 

- 

- 

The  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s 

46 

The  Ex-convict  - - - - 

- 

- 

Hilaire  Belloc 

48 

IMiss  Cavell  ----- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

50 

The  Hostages  . . - - 

- 

- 

John  Oxenham 

52 

King  Albert’s  Answer  to  the  Pope 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

54 

The  Gas  Fiend  - - - - 

- 

- 

Eden  Phillpotts 

56 

The  German  Tango 

- 

- 

John  Buchan 

58 

The  Zeppelin  Triumph 

- 

- 

W.  L.  Courtney 

60 

Keeping  Out  the  Enemy 

- 

- 

H.  DeVere  Stacpoole 

62 

The  German  Offer  - - - 

- 

- 

Hilaire  Belloc 

64 

The  Wolf  Trap  - - - - 

- 

- 

Herbert  Warren 

66 

Ahasuerus  II 

- 

- 

John  Buchan 

68 

Our  Candid  Friend  - . - 

- 

- 

The  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s 

70 

LIST  OF  CARTOONS  AND  THE  DESCRIPTIVE  NOTES 


Peace  and  Intervention 

_ 

. 

Boyd  Cable 

PAGE 

72 

Little  Red  Riding  Hood 

- 

- 

- 

H.  DeVere  Stacpoole 

74 

The  Sea  Mine  . - _ . 

- 

- 

- 

Arthur  Pollen 

76 

“Seduction”  . _ . _ 

- 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

78 

Murder  on  the  High  Seas  - 

- 

- 

- 

Arthur  Pollen 

80 

Ad  Finem  ----- 

John  OxerJiam 

82 

“U’S”  ------ 

Arthur  Pollen 

84 

Mater  Dolorosa  - - - - 

- 

- 

- 

Eden  Ph  illpo  ts 

86 

“Gott  Strafe  Italien!” 

- 

- 

- 

Ralph  D.  Plmnenfeld 

88 

Serbia  ------ 

Sir  Sidney  Lee 

90 

“Just  a Moment-  I’m  Coming”  - 

- 

- 

- 

Boyd  Cable 

92 

The  Holy  War  . - - - 

- 

- 

- 

Boyd  Cable 

94 

“GottMitUns”  - - - - 

- 

- 

- 

Eden  Phillpotts 

96 

The  W idows  of  Belgium 

- 

- 

- 

The  Dean  of  St.  Paul’s 

98 

The  Harvest  Is  Ripe  - 

- 

- 

- 

William  Mitchell  Ramsay 

100 

“Unmasked”  . - _ . 

- 

- 

- 

Boyd  Cable 

102 

The  Great  Surprise  - - - 

- 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

104 

Thou  Art  the  Man!  - - . 

- 

- 

- 

John  Oxenham 

106 

Sympathy  ----- 

- 

- 

- 

Ralph  D.  Blumenfeld 

108 

The  Refugees  - - _ _ 

- 

- 

- 

Joseph  Thorp 

110 

“The  Junker”  - . _ - 

- 

- 

- 

Clive  Holland 

112 

“ Au  Milieu  De  Fantcmes  Tristes  Ft  Sans  Nombre  ” 

Alice  Meynell 

114 

Bluebeard’s  Chamber  - - - 

- 

- 

- 

William  Mitchell  Ramsay 

116 

The  Raid  ----- 

Arthur  Pollen 

118 

Better  a Li\tng  Dog  Than  a Dead  Lion 

- 

- 

Arthur  Shadwell 

120 

“The  Burden  of  the  Intolerable  Day” 

- 

- 

William  Mitchell  Ramsay 

122 

Eagle  in  Hen-run 

- 

- 

- 

Boyd  Cable 

124 

The  Future  ----- 

Sidney  Lee 

126 

Christ  or  Odin?  - - - - 

- 

- 

- 

Bernard  Vaughan 

128 

Ferdinand  ----- 

Edmund  Gosse 

130 

Juggernaut  ----- 

John  Oxenham 

132 

Michael  and  the  Marks 

- 

- 

- 

W.  M.  J.  Williams 

134 

Their  Beresina  - - - - 

- 

- 

- 

John  Oxenham 

136 

New  Peace  Offers  - - - 

- 

- 

- 

W.  L.  Courtney 

138 

The  Shields  of  Rosselaere  - 

- 

- 

- 

William  Mitchell  Ramsay 

140 

The  Obstinacy  of  Nicholas 

- 

- 

- 

Joseph  Thorp 

142 

The  Order  of  Merit  - - - 

- 

- 

- 

Ralph  D.  Blumenfeld 

144 

The  Marshes  of  Pinsk 

- 

- 

- 

Alice  Llcyncll 

146 

God  With  Us  - - - - 

- 

- 

- 

John  Buchan 

148 

Ferdinand  the  Chameleon  - 

- 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

150 

The  Latin  Sisters  - - - 

- 

- 

- 

Horace  Anncsky  Vcchell 

152 

Misunderstood  - - - - 

- 

- 

- 

Joseph  Thorp 

154 

Prosperity  Reigns  in  Flanders  - 

- 

- 

- 

Cecil  Chesterton 

156 

The  Last  Hohenzollern 

- 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

158 

PiRAGY  - 

Arthur  Pollen 

160 

“Weeping,  She  Hath  Wept” 

- 

- 

- 

Father  Bernard  Vaughan 

162 

Military  Necessity  . - - 

- 

- 

- 

Eden  Phillpotts 

164 

LIST  OF  CARTOONS  AND  THE  DESCRIPTIVE  NOTES 


Liberte!  Liberte,  Cherie! 

_ 

_ 

John  Oxenham 

PAGE 

166 

I "A  Knavish  Piece  OF  Work”  - 

- 

- 

George  Birdwood 

168 

II -“Sisyphus, — His  Stone” 

- 

- 

George  Birdwood 

170 

Concrete  Foundations  - . - 

- 

- 

A.  ShadweU 

172 

Pallas  Athene 

- 

- 

Herbert  Waryier 

174 

The  Wonders  of  Culture  - 

- 

- 

Clive  Holland 

176 

“Folk  Who  Do  Not  Understand  Them” 

- 

- 

Bernard  Vaughan 

178 

On  the  Way  to  Calais  - - - - 

- 

- 

Eden  Phillpotts 

180 

Von  Bethmann-Hollweg  and  Truth  - 

- 

- 

Herbert  Warreri 

182 

Van  Tromp  and  De  Ruyter  - 

- 

- 

Arthur  Pollen 

184 

War  and  Christ 

- 

- 

Cecil  Chesterton 

186 

Barbed  Wire 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

188 

The  Higher  Politics  - - - - 

- 

- 

Boyd  Cable 

190 

The  Loan  Game 

- 

- 

W.  M.  J.  William  s 

192 

\ War  of  Rapine 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

194 

The  Dutch  Junkers  - . . . 

- 

- 

A.  ShadweU 

196 

The  War  Makers  _ . _ . 

- 

- 

John  Oxenham 

198 

The  Christmas  of  Kultur,  A.D.  1915  - 

- 

- 

A.  ShadweU 

200 

Serbia  ------- 

Horace  Annesley  Vachell 

202 

The  Last  of  the  Race  - - - - 

- 

- 

Arthur  Pollen 

204 

The  Curriculum  ----- 

- 

- 

W.  M.  J . Williams 

206 

The  Dutch  Journalist  to  His  Belgian  Confrere 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

208 

A Bored  Critic 

- 

- 

Eden  Phillpotts 

210 

“ The  Peace  Woman  ” - - - - 

- 

- 

Clive  Holland 

212 

The  Self-satisfied  Burgher 

- 

- 

W . L.  Courtney 

214 

The  Decadent  ----- 

- 

- 

Joh  n Oxenham 

216 

Liquid  Fire  ------ 

Clive  Holland 

218 

Nish  and  Paris  ----- 

- 

- 

Sidney  Lee 

220 

Gott  Strafe  England!  - - - - 

- 

- 

Cecil  Chesterton 

222 

The  Pacificist  Kaiser  (The  Conp^ederates) 

- 

Sidney  Lee 

224 

Dinant 

- 

W.  R.  Jnge 

226 

“Hesperia”  (Wounded  First) 

- 

- 

H.  DeV ere  Stacpoole 

228 

Gallipoli  ------ 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

230 

The  Beginning  of  the  Expiation 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

232 

The  Shirkers 

- 

- 

Sidney  Lee 

234 

One  of  the  Kaiser’s  Many  Mistakes  - 

- 

- 

John  Oxenham 

236 

Belgium  in  Holland  - . - - 

- 

- 

Ednmnd  Gosse 

238 

Serbia  ------- 

William  Mitchell  Ramsay 

240 

Jacplvls  in  the  Political  Field  - 

- 

- 

Herbert  Warren 

242 

A Letter  from  the  German  Trenches 

- 

- 

Cecil  Chesterton 

244 

His  Master’s  Voice  - - - - 

- 

- 

A.  ShadweU 

246 

Hun  Generosity 

- 

- 

Horace  Annesley  Vachell 

248 

Easter,  1915 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

250 

Pan  Germanicus  as  Peace  Maker 

- 

- 

Alfred  Stead 

252 

Gott  Mit  Uns 

- 

- 

Cecil  Chesterton 

254 

Our  Lady  of  Antwerp  - - - - 

- 

- 

W.  L.  Courtney 

256 

Deportation 

- 

- 

Cecil  Chesterton 

258 

LIST  OF  CARTOONS  AND  THE  DESCRIPTIVE  NOTES 


The  German  Band  - . . . 

John  Oxenham 

PAGE 

260 

Arcades  Ambo 

- 

- 

Horace  Annesley  Vachell 

262 

“Is  It  You,  Mother?”  - - - - 

- 

- 

Sidney  Lee 

264 

The  Fate  of  Flemish  Art  at  the  Hands  of  Kultur  Arthur  Morrison 

266 

The  Graves  of  All  His  Hopes 

- 

- 

H.  DeVere  Stacpoole 

268 

“My  Sixth  Son  Is  Now  Lying  Here — Where  Are 
Yours?”  ------- 

H.  DeVere  Stacpoole 

270 

Bunkered  - 

W.  R.  Inge 

272 

Gott  Strafe  Verdun  - - - - 

- 

- 

W.  R.  Inge 

274 

The  Last  Throw 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

276 

The  Zeppelin  Bag  - - - - 

- 

- 

Clive  Holland 

278 

“Come  In,  Michael,  I Have  Had  a Long  Sleep” 

Horace  Annesley  Vachell 

280 

Five  on  a Bench  ----- 

- 

- 

G.  K.  Chesterton 

282 

What  About  Peace,  Lads?  - - - 

- 

- 

W.  R.  Inge 

284 

The  Liberators  ----- 

- 

- 

Joseph  Thor]) 

286 

Tom  Thumb  and  the  Giant  - - - 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

288 

“We  Have  Finished  Off  the  Russians 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

290 

Muddle  Through  ----- 

- 

- 

Clive  Holland 

292 

My  Enemy  Is  My  Best  Friend 

- 

- 

William  Mitchell  Ramsay 

294 

How  I Deal  With  the  Small  Fry 

- 

- 

Clive  Holland 

296 

The  Two  Eagles  ----- 

- 

- 

A.  Shadwell 

298 

London— Inside  THE  Savoy  - - - 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

300 

London — Outside  the  Savoy 

- 

- 

E.  Charles  Vivian 

302 

The  Invocation  ----- 

- 

- 

A.  Shadwell 

304 

Introduction 


LOUIS  RAEMAEKERS  will  stand  out  for  all  time  as  one  of  the  supreme  figures 
which  the  Great  War  has  called  into  being.  His  genius  has  been  enlisted 
in  the  service  of  mankind,  and  his  work,  being  entirely  sincere  and  untouched 
by  racial  or  national  prejudice,  will  endure;  indeed,  it  promises  to  gain  strength 
as  the  years  advance.  When  the  intense  passions,  which  have  been  awakened  by  this 
world  struggle,  have  faded  away,  civilization  will  regard  the  war  largely  through  these 
wonderful  drawings. 


Before  the  war  had  been  in  progress  many  weeks  the  cartoons  in  the  Amsterdam 
Telegraaf  attracted  attention  in  the  capitals  of  Europe,  many  leading  newspapers 
reproducing  them.  The  German  authorities,  quick  to  realize  their  full  significance,  did 
all  in  their  power  to  suppress  them.  Through  German  intrigue  Raemaekers  has  been 
charged  in  the  Dutch  Courts  with  endangering  the  neutrality  of  Holland-  and  ac- 
quitted. A price  has  been  set  on  his  head,  should  he  ever  venture  over  the  border. 

When  he  crossed  to  England,  his  wife  received  anonymous  post-cards,  warning 
her  that  his  ship  would  certainly  be  torpedoed  in  the  North  Sea.  The  Cologne  Gazette, 
in  a leading  article  on  Holland,  threatens  that  country  that  “after  the  War  Germany 
will  settle  accounts  with  Holland,  and  for  each  calumny,  for  each  cartoon  of  Rae- 
maekers, she  will  demand  payment  with  the  interest  that  is  due  to  her.”  Not  since 
Saul  and  the  men  of  Israel  were  in  the  valley  of  Elah  fighting  with  the  Philistines  has 
so  unexpected  a champion  arisen.  With  brush  and  pencil  this  Dutch  painter  will  do 
even  as  David  did  with  the  smooth  stone  out  of  the  brook:  he  will  destroy  the  braggart 
Goliath,  who,  strong  in  his  own  might,  defies  the  forces  of  the  living  God. 

When  Mr.  Raemaekers  came  to  London  in  December,  he  was  received  by  the 
Prime  Minister,  and  was  entertained  at  a complimentary  luncheon  by  the  Journalists 
of  the  British  capital.  Similar  honour  was  conferred  on  him  on  his  second  visit. 
He  was  the  guest  of  honour  at  the  Savage  Club;  the  Royal  Society  of  Miniature  Painters 
elected  him  an  Honorary  Member.  But  it  has  been  left  to  France  to  pay  the  most 
fitting  recognition  to  his  genius  and  to  his  services  in  the  cause  of  freedom  and  truth. 
The  Cross  of  the  Legion  of  Honour  has  been  presented  to  him,  and  on  his  visit  to  Paris 
this  month  a special  reception  is  to  be  held  in  his  honour  at  La  Sorbonne,  which  is  the 
highest  purely  intellectual  reward  Europe  can  confer  on  any  man. 

The  great  Dutch  cartoonist  is  now  in  his  forty-seventh  year.  He  was  bom  in 
Holland,  his  father,  who  is  dead,  having  been  the  editor  of  a provincial  newspaper. 
His  mother,  who  is  still  alive  and  exceedingly  proud  of  her  son’s  fame,  is  a German 


INTRODUCTION 


by  birth,  but  rejoices  that  she  married  a Dutchman.  Mr.  Raemaekers,  who  is  short, 
fair,  and  of  a ruddy  countenance,  looks  at  least  ten  years  younger  than  his  age.  He  took 
up  painting  and  drawing  when  quite  young  and  learnt  his  art  in  Holland  and  in  Brussels. 
All  his  life  he  has  lived  in  his  own  country,  but  with  frequent  visits  to  Belgium  and 
Germany,  where,  through  his  mother,  he  has  many  relations.  Thus  he  knows  by 
experience  the  nature  of  the  peoples  whom  he  depicts. 

For  many  years  he  was  a landscape  painter  and  a portrait  painter,  and  made  money 
and  local  reputation.  Six  or  seven  years  ago  he  turned  his  attention  to  political  work, 
and  became  a cartoonist  and  caricaturist  on  the  staff  of  the  Amsterdam  Telegraaf, 
thus  opening  the  way  to  a fame  which  is  not  only  world-wide  but  which  will  endure 
as  long  as  the  memory  of  the  Great  War  lasts.  His  ideas  come  to  him  naturally 
and  without  effort.  Suggestions  do  not  assist  him ; they  hinder  him  when  he  endeavours 
to  act  on  them.  He  is  an  artist  to  his  finger-tips  and  throws  the  whole  force  of  his 
being  into  his  work.  Some  years  ago  he  married  a Dutch  lady,  who  is  devoted  to 
music,  and  they  have  three  children,  two  girls  and  a boy  (the  youngest) ; the  eldest  is 
now  twelve.  Very  happy  in  his  home,  Mr.  Raemaekers  has  no  ambitions  outside  it, 
except  to  go  on  with  his  work.  A Teuton  paper  has  declared  that  Raemaekers’  car- 
toons are  worth  at  least  two  Army  Corps  to  the  Allies. 

The  strong  religious  tendency  which  so  often  distinguishes  his  work  makes  one 
instinctively  ask  to  what  Church  does  the  artist  belong.  He  replies  that  he  belongs  to 
none,  but  was  brought  up  a Catholic,  and  his  wife  a Protestant,  and  the  differences 
which  in  later  life  severed  each  from  their  early  teaching  caused  them  to  meet  on 
common  ground.  But  the  intense  Christian  feeling  of  these  drawings  is  beyond  cavil 
or  dispute:  they  again  and  again  bring  home  to  the  heart  the  vital  truths  of  the  Faith 
with  irresistible  force,  and  the  artist  ever  expresses  the  Christianity,  not  perhaps  of  the 
theologian,  but  of  the  honest  and  kindly  man  of  the  world. 

Praise  has  been  bestowed  upon  his  work  by  several  German  papers  qualified 
praise.  The  Leipziger  Volkszeitnng  has  declared  that  Raemaekers’  cartoons  show 
unimpeachable  art  and  great  power  of  execution,  but  that  they  all  lack  one  thing. 
They  have  no  wit,  no  spirit.  Which  is  true— in  a sense.  They  do  lack  wit  German 
wit;  they  do  lack  spirit — German  spirit.  And  what  German  wit  and  German  spirit 
may  be  one  can  comprehend  by  a study  of  Raemaekers’  cartoons. 


It  has  been  well  said  that  no  man  living  amidst  these  surging  seas  of  blood  and 
tears  has  come  nearer  to  the  role  of  Peacemaker  than  Raemaekers.  The  Peace  which 
he  works  for  is  not  a matter  of  arrangement  between  diplomatists  and  politicians: 
it  is  the  peace  which  the  intelligence  and  the  soul  of  the  Western  world  shall  insist  on 
in  the  years  to  be.  God  grant  it  be  not  long  delayed,  but  it  can  only  come  when  the 
enemy  is  entirely  overthrown  and  the  victory  is  overwhelming  and  complete. 

Empire  House,  FRANCIS  STOPFORD, 

Kingsway,  London.  Editor,  Land  and  Water. 

February,  1916. 


An  Appreciation  from  the 
Prime  Minister 


Downing  Street, 

Whitehall,  S.  W. 


Mr.  RAEMAEKERS’  powerful  work 
gives  form  and  colour  to  the  menace 
which  the  Allies  are  averting  from  the 
lilierty,  the  civilization,  and  the  humanity  of  Ihe 
fill  lire.  Me  shows  us  our  enemies  as  I hey  ap- 
])ear  lo  the  unbiassed  eyes  of  a neutral,  and 
wherever  his  pictures  are  seen  determination 
will  be  strengthened  to  tolerate  no  end  of  the 
war  save  the  final  overthrow  of  the  Prussian 
military  power. 


Signed  H.  II.  ASQUITH. 


Christendom  After  Twenty 
Centuries 

These  pictures,  with  their  haunting  sense  of  beauty  and  their 
biting  satire,  might  almost  have  been  drawn  by  the  linger  of  the 
Accusing  Angel.  As  the  spectator  gazes  on  them  the  full  weight 
of  the  horrible  cruelty  and  senseless  futility  of  war  overwhelms  the 
soul,  and,  sinking  helplessly  beneath  it,  he  feels  inclined  to  assume  the 
same  attitude  of  despair  as  is  shown  in  “Christendom  After  Twenty 
Centuries.” 

“War  is  war,”  the  Germans  preached  and  practised,  and  no  matter 
how  clement  and  correct  may  be  the  humanity  of  the  Allies,  we  realize 
through  these  pictures  what  the  human  race  has  to  face  and  endure 
once  peace  be  l)roken.  Is  “ Christendom  After  Twenty  Centuries”  to  l>e 
even  as  Christianity  was  in  the  first  century-  an  excuse  for  the  j)erpetra- 
tion  of  mad  cruelties  by  degenerate  Ca-sars  or  Kaisers  (spell  it  as  you 
will)  at  their  games?  Cannot  the  higher  and  liner  attribules  of  man- 
kind be  developed  and  strengthened  without  this  apparently  needless 
waste  of  agony  and  life?  Is  human  nature  only  to  be  redeemed 
through  the  Cross,  and  must  Calvary  bear  again  and  again  its  heavy 
load  of  human  anguish? 

One  cannot  escape  from  this  inner  questioning  as  one  gazes  on 
Raemaekers’  cartoons. 


FRANCIS  STOPFORD. 


CHRIS  I'ENDOM  AF  I ER  I WEN  I V CEN  TURIES 


9 


A Stable  Peace 

WERE  I privileged  to  have  a hand  at  the  Peace  Conference, 
my  cooperation  would  take  the  part  of  deeds  and  I should 
only  ask  to  hang  the  walls  of  the  council  chamber  with 
life-size  reproductions  of  Raemaekers  in  blood-red  frames.  Eor 
human  memory  is  weak,  and  as  mind  of  man  cannot  grasp  the  mean- 
ing of  a million,  so  may  it  well  fail  to  keep  steadily  before  itself  the 
measure  of  Relgium — the  rape  and  murder,  the  pillage  and  plunder, 
the  pretences  under  which  perished  women  and  priests  and  children, 
the  brutal  tyranny — the  left  hand  that  beckoned  in  friendly  fashion, 
the  right  hand,  hidden  with  the  steel. 

We  can  very  safely  leave  Erance  to  remember  Northern  France 
and  Russia  not  to  forget  Poland;  l)ut  let  Belgium  and  Serbia  be  at 
the  front  of  the  British  mind  and  conscience;  let  her  lift  her  eyes 
to  these  scorching  pictures  when  Germany  tights  with  all  her  cunning 
for  a peace  that  shall  leave  Prussia  scotched,  not  killed. 

Already  one  reads  despondent  articles,  that  the  English  tradition, 
to  forgive  and  forget,  is  going  to  wreck  the  peace;  and  students  of 
psychology  fear  that  within  us  lie  ineradicable  qualities  that  will  save 
the  situation  for  Germany  at  the  end. 

To  suspect  such  a national  weakness  is  surely  to  arm  against  it 
and  see  that  our  contribution  to  the  Peace  Conference  shall  not  stultify 
our  contribution  to  the  War. 

The  Germans  have  been  kite-tlying  for  six  months,  to  see  which 
way  the  wind  blows;  and  when  the  steady  hurricane  broke  the  strings 
and  thing  the  kites  headlong  to  earth,  those  who  sent  them  up  were 
sufliciently  proclaimed  by  their  haste  to  disclaim. 

But  when  the  actual  conditions  are  created  and  the  new  “Scrap 
of  Paper"  comes  to  light,  since  German  honour  is  dead  and  her  oath 
in  her  own  sight  worthless,  let  it  be  worthless  in  our  sight  also,  and 
let  the  terms  of  peace  preclude  her  power  to  perjure  herself  again. 
Make  her  honest  by  depriving  her  of  the  strength  to  be  dishonest. 
There  is  only  one  thing  on  earth  the  German  will  ever  respect,  and  that 
is  superior  force.  May  Berlin,  therefore,  see  an  army  of  occupation; 
and  may  “peace"  be  a word  banished  from  every  Allied  tongue  until 
that  ])reliminary  condition  of  peace  is  accomplished,  and  Germany 
sees  other  armies  than  her  own. 

Reason  has  been  denied  speech  in  this  war;  but  if  she  is  similarly 
banished  from  the  company  of  the  peace-makers,  then  woe  betide 
the  constitution  of  the  thing  they  will  create,  for  a “stable  peace” 
must  be  the  very  last  desire  of  those  now  doomed  to  defeat. 

EUEN  PHILLPOTTS. 


10 


A STABLE  IT;ACK 

The  Kaiser;  "And  remember,  if  they  do  not  accept,  I den\-  altogetlier," 


1 1 


The  Massacre  of  the  Innocents 

SOME  “neutrals,”  and  even  some  of  the  people  here  in  England, 
still  doubt  the  reality  of  the  German  atrocities  in  Belgium, 
but  Raemaekers  has  seen  and  spoken  with  those  to  whom  the 
scene  depicted  in  this  cartoon  is  an  ugly  reality.  One  who  would  under- 
stand it  to  the  full  must  visualize  the  hands  behind  the  thrusting  rifle 
butts,  and  the  faces  behind  the  hands,  as  well  as  the  praying,  maddened, 
despairing,  vengeful  women  of  the  picture — and  must  visualize,  too, 
the  men  thrust  back  another  way,  to  wait  their  fate  at  the  hands  of 
these  apostles  of  a civilization  of  force. 

Yet  even  then  full  realization  is  impossible;  the  man  whose  pencil 
has  limned  these  faces  has  only  caught  a far-off  echo  of  the  reality, 
and  thus  we  who  see  his  picture  are  yet  another  stage  removed  from 
the  full  horror  of  the  scene  that  he  gives  ns.  Not  on  us,  in  England, 
have  the  rifle  butts  fallen;  not  for  us  has  it  chanced  that  we  should 
be  shepherded  “men  to  the  right,  women  to  the  left”;  not  ours  the 
trenched  graves  and  the  extremity  of  shame.  Thus  it  is  not  for  us  to 
speak,  as  the  people  of  Belgium  and  Northern  France  will  speak,  of 
the  limits  of  endurance,  and  of  war’s  last  terrors  imposed  on  those 
whom  war  should  have  passed  by  and  left  untouched.  We  gather, 
dimly  and  with  but  a tithe  of  the  feeling  that  experience  can  impart, 
that  these  extremities  of  shame  and  suffering  have  been  imposed  on  a 
people  that  has  done  no  wrong,  and  we  may  gain  some  slight  satisfac- 
tion from  the  thought  that  to  this  nation  is  apportioned  a share  in  the 
work  of  vengeance  on  the  criminals. 


E.  CHARLES  \T\TAN. 


12 


THE  MASSACKH  OF  THE  INNOCEN  I'S 
“We  must  do  everything  in  good  order — so  men  to  the  right,  women  to  the  left." 


13 


Bernhardiism 

IT  IS  the  most  bestial  part  of  this  most  bestial  thing  that  it  is  cal- 
culated and  a matter  of  orders.  The  private  soldier  takes  his 
share  of  the  loot,  and  is  generally  the  instrument  of  the  cold  and 
ordered  killing;  but  it  is  the  otiicer-class  which  most  profits  in  goods, 
and  it  is  the  higher  command  which  dictates  the  policy.  It  was  so  in 
1870.  It  is  much  more  so  to-day. 

This  note  of  calculation  is  particularly  to  be  seen  in  the  tluctua- 
tions  through  which  that  policy  has  passed.  When  the  enemy  was 
absolutely  certain  of  victory,  outnumbering  the  invader  by  nearly 
two  to  one  and  sweeping  all  before  him,  we  had  massacres  upon  mas- 
sacres: Louvain,  Aerschot,  the  wholesale  butchery  of  Dinant,  the 

Lorraine  villages  (and  in  j)articular  the  hell  of  Guebervilliers).  Even 
at  the  very  extremity  of  his  tide  of  invasion,  and  in  the  last  days  of  it, 
came  the  atrocities  and  destruction  of  Sermaize.  In  the  very  act  of 
the  defeat  which  has  pinned  him  and  began  the  j)rocess  of  his  destruc- 
tion he  was  attempting  yet  a further  repetition  of  these  unnameable 
things  at  Senlis  under  the  very  gates  of  Paris. 

Then  came  the  months  when  he  felt  less  secure.  The  whole  thing 
was  at  once  toned  down  by  order.  Pillage  was  reduced  to  isolated 
cases,  and  murder  also.  Few  children  suffered. 

A recovery  of  confidence  throughout  his  Eastern  successes  last 
summer  renewed  the  crimes.  Poland  is  full  of  them,  and  the  Serbian 
land  as  well. 

In  general,  you  have  throughout  these  months  of  his  ordeal  a 
regular  succession,  of  excess  in  vileness  when  he  is  confident,  of  re- 
straint in  it  when  he  is  touched  by  fear. 

This  effect  of  fear  ui)on  the  dull  soul  is  a characteristic  familiar 
to  all  men  who  know  their  Prussian  from  history,  particularly  the 
wealthier  governing  classes  of  Prussia.  It  is  a characteristic  which 
those  who  are  in  authority  during  this  war  will  do  well  to  bear  in 
mind.  Projieiiy  used,  that  knowledge  may  be  made  an  instrument 
of  victory. 

HILAIRE  BELLOC. 


14 


■‘ill /'/SB 

bIH 

dikwiJiT  J 

\ j i 

- 

BI^^PlklrM ' SPvlf 

HHKNIlARDllSiM 

•'It’s  all  right.  If  I hadn’t  done  it  some  one  else  might.” 


From  Liege  to  Aix-La-Chapelle 

MOHhX)VKR,  by  the  means  of  Wisdom  I shall  obtain  im- 
mortality, and  leave  behind  me  an  everlasting  memorial  to 
them  that  come  after  me. 

“I  shall  set  the  people  in  order,  and  the  nations  shall  be  subject 
unto  me. 

“Horrible  tyrants  shall  be  afraid,  when  they  do  but  hear  of  me; 
I shall  be  found  good  among  the  multitude,  and  valiant  in  war.” 
(Wisdom  viii.  13,  14,  15.) 

^ ^ ^ 

Wisdom  and  Wisdom  alone  could  have  painted  this  terrible  pic- 
ture— the  most  terrible  perhaps  which  Racmaekers  has  ever  done  and 
yet  the  simj^lest.  44iat  he  should  have  dared  to  leave  almost  every- 
thing to  the  imagination  of  the  beholder  is  evidence  of  the  wonderful 
power  which  he  exercises  over  the  mind  of  the  people.  Each  of  us 
knows  what  is  in  that  goods-van  and  we  shudder  at  its  hideous  hidden 
freight,  fearing  lest  it  may  be  disclosed  before  our  eyes.  Wisdom  is 
but  another  name  for  supreme  genius.  So  apposite  are  the  verses  which 
arc  ([uoted  here  from  “The  Wisdom  of  Solomon”  in  the  “Apocrypha” 
that  they  seem  almost  to  have  been  written  on  Louis  Raemaekers. 

Moreover,  this  picture  brings  home  to  all  of  us  in  the  most  forcible 
manner  possible  the  full  reality  of  the  horror  of  war. 

FRANCIS  STOPFORD. 


16 


FK(J.\l  I.IHCjH  ru  AIX-LA-CIIAI^F.IJ.H 


17 


Spoils  for  the  V ictors 

The  feature  that  will  stamp  Prussian  War  forever,  and  make 
this  group  of  campaigns  stand  out  from  all  others,  is  the 
character  of  its  murder  and  i)illage. 

Of  all  the  historical  ignorance  upon  which  the  foolish  Pacifist’s 
case  is  founded,  perhaps  the  worst  is  the  conception  that  these  abomi- 
nations are  the  natural  accompaniment  of  war.  They  have  attached 
to  war  when  war  was  ill  organised  in  type.  But  the  more  subject 
to  rule  it  has  become,  the  more  men  have  gloried  in  arms,  the  more 
they  have  believed  the  high  trade  of  soldier  to  be  a pride,  the  more 
have  they  eliminated  the  pillage  of  the  civilian  and  the  slaughter 
of  the  innocent  from  its  actions.  Those  things  belong  to  violent  pas- 
sion and  to  lack  of  reason.  Modern  war  and  the  chivalric  tradition 
scorned  them. 

'idle  edges  of  the  Germanies  have,  in  the  past,  been  touched  by  the 
chivalric  tradition;  Prussia  never.  That  noblest  inheritance  of  Christ- 
endom never  reached  out  so  far  into  the  wilds.  And  to  Germany,  now 
wholly  Prussianized — which  will  kill  us  or  which  we  shall  kill — soldier  is 
no  high  thing,  nor  is  their  any  meaning  attached  to  the  word  “Glorious.” 
War  is  for  that  State  a business:  a business  only  to  be  undertaken  with 
profit  against  what  is  certainly  weaker;  to  be  undertaken  without  faith 
and  with  a cruelty  in  proportion  to  that  weakness.  In  particular  it  must 
be  a terror  to  women,  to  children,  and  to  the  aged — for  these  remain  un- 
armed. 

This  country  alone  of  the  original  alliance  has  been  spared  pillage. 
It  has  not  been  spared  murder.  But  this  country,  though  the  process 
has  perhaps  been  more  gradual  than  elsewhere,  is  very  vividly  alive 
to-day  to  what  would  necessarily  follow  the  presence  of  German 
soldiery  upon  English  land, 

HILAIRE  BEUMC. 


18 


SFOll-S  FOR  THF  VICTORS 

“We  must  despoil  Belgium  if  only  to  make  room  for  our  own  culture.” 


19 


Very  Stones  Cry 

IF  THE  highly  organized  enemy  with  whom  we  are  at  grips  m a 
life-and-death  struggle  would  only  play  the  war  game  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  rules  drawn  up  by  civilized  peoples,  he  would, 
indeed,  command  our  admiration  no  less  than  our  respect.  Never 
on  this  earth  was  there  such  a splendid  fighting  machine  as  that  “made 
in  Germany.”  The  armies  against  us  are  the  last  word  in  discipline, 
fitness,  and  equipment;  and  are  led  by  men  who,  born  in  barracks, 
weaned  on  munitions,  have  but  one  aim  and  end  in  view — “World- 
Dominion  or  Downfall.” 

As  a matter  of  fact,  instead  of  winning  our  admiration  they  have 
drawn  our  detestation.  Not  content  with  brushing  aside  all  inter- 
national laws  of  warfare,  they  have  trampled  upon  every  law,  human 
and  divine,  standing  in  their  way  of  conquest.  Indeed,  Germany’s 
method  of  fighting  would  disgrace  the  savages  of  Gentral  Africa. 

Prussianized  Germany  has  the  monopoly  of  “frightfulness.”  When 
not  “frightful,”  Prussian  troopers  are  not  living  down  to  the  instruc- 
tions of  their  War-lords  to  leave  the  coiKiuered  with  nothing  but  eyes 
to  weep  with.  Not  content  to  crucify  Canadians,  murder  priests,  vio- 
late nuns,  mishandle  women,  and  bayonet  children,  the  enemy  tor- 
pedoes civilian-carrying  liners,  and  bombs  Red  Cross  hospitals.  More, 
sinning  against  jiosterity  as  well  as  antif|uity,  Germans  stand  charged 
before  man  and  God  with  reducing  lo  ashes  some  of  the  finest  artistic 
output  of  Christian  civilization.  When  accused  of  crimes  such  as 
these,  Germany  answers  through  her  generals;  “The  commonest, 
ugliest  stone  put  to  mark  the  burial-place  of  a German  grenadier  is  a 
more  glorious  and  veneral)le  monument  than  all  the  cathedrals  of 
Europe  put  together”  (General  von  Disfurth  in  Hamburger  Nachrich- 
ten).  “Thus  is  fulfilled  the  well-known  prophecy  of  Heine:  ‘When 

once  that  restraining  talisman,  the  Cross,  is  broken  . . . Thor, 

with  his  colossal  hammer,  will  leap  up,  and  with  it  shatter  into  frag- 
ments the  Gothic  cathedrals’  ” {Religion  and  Philosophy  in  Germany 
in  Ihe  Nineteenth  Century). 

What,  I ask,  can  you  do  with  such  people  but  either  crush  or 
civilize  them‘? 

The  very  stones  cry  out  against  them. 

BERNARD  VAUGHAN,  S.J. 


20 


21 


Satan^s  Partner 

The  cartoon  bears  the  quotation  from  Bernhardi  “War  is  as 
divine  as  eating  and  drinking.”  Yes;  and  German  war  is  as 
divine  as  German  eating  and  drinking.  Any  one  who  has  been 
in  a German  restauranl  during  that  mammoth  midday  meal  which 
generally  precedes  a slee])  akin  to  a hil)ernation,  will  understand  how 
the  same  strange  barbarous  solemnity  has  ruined  all  the  real  romance 
of  war.  There  is  no  way  of  conveying  Ihe  distinction,  except  by  saying 
vaguely  that  there  is  a way  of  doing  things,  and  that  butchering  is  not 
necessary  to  a good  army  any  more  than  gobl)ling  is  necessary  to  a 
good  dinner.  In  our  own  insular  shorthand  it  can  be,  insufficiently 
and  narrowly  but  not  unprofitably,  expressed  by  saying  that  it  is 
possible  both  to  tight  and  to  eat  like  a gentleman.  It  is  therefore  highly 
significant  that  Mr.  Raemaekers  has  in  this  cartoon  conceived  the  devil 
l)rimarily  as  a kind  of  ogre.  It  is  a matter  of  great  interest  that  this 
Dutch  man  of  genius,  like  that  other  genius  whose  pencil  war  has 
turned  into  a swiird.  Will  Dyson,  tends  in  the  presence  of  Prussia 
(which  has  l)een  for  many  moderns  their  first  glimpse  of  absolute  or 
positive  evil)  to  depriving  the  devil  of  all  that  moonshine  of  dignity 
which  sentimental  sceptics  have  given  him.  Evil  does  not  mean 
dignity,  any  more  than  it  means  any  other  good  thing.  The  stronger 
caricaturists  have,  in  a sense,  fallen  back  on  the  medieval  devil;  not 
because  he  is  more  mystical,  but  because  he  is  more  material.  The  face 
of  Raemaekers’  Satan,  with  its  lifted  jowl  and  bared  teeth,  has  less 
of  the  half-truth  of  cynicism  than  of  mere  ignominious  greed.  The 
armies  are  spread  out  for  him  as  a l)anquet;  and  the  war  which  he 
])raises,  and  which  was  really  spread  for  him  in  Elanders,  is  not  a 
Crusade  but  a cannibal  feast. 


o*:' 


G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


SAIAN'S  l^AKINHR 

Bernharim:  ‘A\'ar  is  as  divine  as  eating  and  drinking.” 
Satan:  "Here  is  a p^artner  for  me.” 


23 


Thrown  to  the  Swine 

The  Germans  have  commit  Led  many  more  indefensible  crimes 
than  the  military  execution  of  the  kind-hearted  nurse  who  had 
helped  war-prisoners  to  escape.  They  have  murdered  hun- 
dreds of  women  who  had  committed  no  offence  whatever  against  their 
military  rules.  But  though  not  the  worst  of  their  misdeeds,  this 
has  probably  been  the  stupidest.  It  gained  us  almost  as  many  recruits 
as  the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania,  and  it  made  the  whole  world  understand 
— what  is  unhappily  the  truth — that  the  German  is  wholly  destitute 
of  chivalry.  He  knows  indeed  that  people  of  other  nations  are  af- 
fected by  this  sentiment;  but  he  despises  them  for  it.  Woman  is  the 
weaker  vessel;  and  therefore,  according  to  his  code,  she  must  be  taught 
to  know  her  ])lace,  which  is  to  cook  and  sew,  and  produce  “cannon- 
fodder”  for  the  Government.  Readers  of  Schopenhauer  and  Nietzsche 
will  remember  the  advice  given  by  those  philosophers  for  the  treatment 
of  women.  Nietzsche  recommends  a whip.  It  never  occurred  to 
German  officialdom  that  the  pedantic  condemnation  of  one  obscure 
woman,  guilty  by  the  letter  of  their  law,  would  stir  the  heart  of  Eng- 
land and  America  to  the  depths,  and  steel  our  soldiers  to  further  efforts 
against  an  enemy  whose  moral  unlikeness  to  ourselves  becomes  more 
apparent  with  every  new  phase  in  the  struggle. 

THE  DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL’S. 


24 


THROWN  ro  IHE  SWINE 
The  Martyred  Nurse. 


25 


The  Land  Mine 

WHAT  does  this  cartoon  suggest?  I am  asked  and  I ask  my- 
self. At  first  very  little,  almost  nothing,  only  uninteresting, 
ugly  death,  gloomy,  ghastly,  dismal,  but  dull  and  largely 
featureless,  blank  and  negative.  Has  the  artist’s  power  failed  him? 
No,  it  is  strongly  drawn.  Has  his  inspiration?  What  does  it  mean? 
Is  it  indeed  meant?  As  I gaze  and  pore  on  it  longer,  I seem  to  see  that 
it  is  just  in  this  blank  negation  that  its  strength  and  its  suggestion  lie. 
It  is  meant.  It  has  meaning.  A lilast  has  passed  over  this  place, 
and  this  is  its  seriuel,  its  derelict  rubbish. 

It  is  death  unredeemed,  death  with  no  very  positive  suggestion, 
with  no  hint  of  heroism,  none  of  heroic  action,  little  even  of  heroic 
jiassion;  just  death,  heljiless,  hopeless,  jiointing  to  nothing  but  decom- 
position, decay,  disaiipearance,  aneantissenienl,  reduction  of  the  fair 
frame  of  life  to  nothingness.  That  is  the  peculiar  horror  of  this  war. 
Were  the  picture,  as  it  well  might  be,  even  more  hideous,  and  did  it 
suggest  something  more  detinite,  a story  of  struggle,  say,  recorded  in 
contortion,  or  by  wounds  and  weapons,  it  might  be  better. 

But  men  killed  by  machines,  men  killed  by  natural  forces  un- 
naturally employed,  are  indeed  a fact  and  a spectacle  sc[ualid,  sorry, 
unutterably  sad. 

All  wars  have  been  horrible,  but  modern  wars  are  more  in  ex- 
tremes. Heroism  is  there,  but  not  always.  It  is  possible  only  in 
patches.  There  is  much  of  the  mere  sacrifice  of  numbers.  wStrictly, 
there  are  scenes  far  worse  than  this,  for  death  unredeemed  is  not  the 
worst  of  sufferings  or  of  ills.  But  few  arc  sadder.  This  is  indeed  war 
made  by  those  who  hold  it  and  will  it  to  be  “not  a s])ort,  but  a science.” 
There  is  no  sport  here.  Men  killed  like  this  are  like  men  killed  by 
plague  or  the  eru})tion  of  a volcano.  And,  indeed,  what  else  are  they? 
They  are  victims  of  a diseased  humanity  of  the  eruption — literal  and 
meta])horical  of  its  hidden  fires.  And  wars  will  grow  more  and  more 
like  this.  What  can  stop  them  and  banish  these  scenes?  Only  the 
hate  of  hale,  only  the  love  that  can  redeem  even  such  a sight  as  this 
when  at  last  we  remember  that  it  is  for  love’s  sake  only  that  flesh  and 
blood  are  in  the  last  retort  content  to  endure  it. 

HERBERT  WARREN. 


2b 


I 


TllH  LAN'I)  MINE 


'^Tbr  Your  Motherland^’ 


England’s  your  Mother!  Let  your  life 
acclaim 

Her  precious  heart’s  blood  flowing  in 
your  heart; 

Take  ye  the  thunder  of  her  solemn  name 

Upon  your  lips  with  reverence;  play  your 
part 

By  word  and  deed 
To  shield  and  speed 

The  far-flung  splendour  of  her  ancient 
fame. 

England’s  your  Mother!  Shall  not  you, 
her  child, 

Quicken  the  everlasting  fires  that  glow 

Upon  your  birthright’s  altar?  England 
smiled 

Beside  your  cradle,  trusting  you  to  show. 
With  manhood’s  might. 

The  undying  light 

That  points  the  road  her  free-born  spirits 

go. 

England’s  your  Mother!  Man,  forget  it 
not 

Wherever  on  the  wide-wayed  earth 
your  fate 

Calls  you  to  labour;  whatsoe’er  your  lot — 


In  service,  or  in  power,  in  stress  or 
state — 

Whate’er  betide, 

With  humble  pride. 

Remember!  By  your  Mother  you  are  great. 

England’s  your  Mother!  W'hat  though 
dark  the  day 

Above  the  storm-swept  frontier  that 
you  tread? 

Her  vanished  children  throng  the  glorious 
way; 

A myriad  legions  of  her  living  dead— 
d'hose  starry  trains 
That  shared  your  pains — 

Shall  set  their  crown  of  light  upon  your 
head. 

England’s  your  Mother!  When  the  race  is 
run 

And  you  are  called  to  leave  your  life 
and  die. 

Small  matter  what  is  lost,  so  this  be  won: 

An  after-glow  of  blessed  memory. 
Gracious  and  pure. 

In  witness  sure 

“ England  was  this  man’s  Mother:  he, 
her  son.” 

EDEN  PHILLPOTTS. 


28 


1 


“MY  SON',  GO  AND  FIGHT  FOR  YOUR  MOTI  [FRI.AND!  ” 


29 


The  German  Loan 

The  bubble  is  very  nicely  balanced,  for  German  “kultur,” 
which  is  in  reality  but  another  word  for  “system”  or  “organ- 
ization,” rather  than  that  which  English-speaking  people  under- 
stand by  “culture,”  has  built  up  a system  of  internal  credit  that  shall 
ensure  the  correct  balance  of  the  bubble — for  just  as  long  as  the  mili- 
tarist policy  of  Germany  can  endure  the  strain  of  war.  But  money 
alone  is  not  suflicient  for  victory;  the  peasant  hard  put  to  it  to  suppress 
his  laugh,  and  the  crowned  Germania  that  built  up  the  paper  pedestal 
of  the  bubble,  needed  many  other  things  to  make  that  pedestal  secure; 
there  was  needed  integrity,  and  the  respect  of  neighbouring  nations, 
and  the  understanding  of  other  points  of  view  beside  the  doctrine  of 
force,  and  liberty  instead  of  coercion  of  a whole  nation,  and  many 
other  things  that  the  older  civilizations  of  Europe  have  accepted  as 
parts  of  their  code  of  life — the  things  this  new,  upstart  Germany  has 
not  had  time  to  learn.  Thus,  with  the  paper  credit— and  even  with 
the  gold  reserve  of  which  Germany  has  boasted,  the  pedestal  is  but 
paper.  And  the  winds  that  blow  from  the  flooded,  corpse-strewn 
districts  of  the  Yser,  from  Artois,  from  Champagne  and  the  Vosges 
hills  and  forests,  and  from  the  long,  long  line  of  Russia’s  grim  defences 
— these  winds  shall  blow  it  away,  leaving  a nation  bankrupt  not  only 
in  money,  but  in  the  power  to  coerce,  in  the  power  to  inspire  fear,  and 
in  all  those  things  out  of  which  the  Hohenzollern  dynasty  has  built  up 
the  last  empire  of  force. 

E.  CHARLES  VIVIAN. 


30 


THE  GERMAN  EGAN 

“E)on’t  breathe  on  the  bubble  or  the  whole  will  collapse.” 


31 


Europe,  1916 

There  are  some  English  critics  who  have  not  yet  considered 
so  simple  a thing  as  that  the  case  against  horrors  must  be  hor- 
rible. In  this  respect  alone  this  publication  of  the  work  of 
the  distinguished  foreign  cartoonist  is  a thing  for  our  attention  and 
enlightenment.  It  is  the  whole  point  of  the  awful  experience  which 
has  to-day  swallowed  up  all  our  smaller  experiences,  that  we  are  in  any 
case  confronted  with  the  abominable;  and  the  most  beautiful  thing  we 
can  hope  to  show  is  only  an  abomination  of  it.  Nevertheless,  there  is 
horror  and  horror.  The  distinction  between  brute  exaggeration  and 
artistic  emphasis  could  hardly  be  better  studied  than  in  Mr.  Rae- 
maekers’  cartoon,  and  the  use  he  makes  of  the  very  ancient  symbol  of 
the  wheel.  Europe  is  represented  as  dragged  and  broken  upon  the 
wheel  as  in  the  old  torture;  but  the  wheel  is  that  of  a modern  cannon, 
so  that  the  dim  background  can  be  tilled  in  with  the  suggestion  of  a 
wholly  modern  machinery.  This  is  a very  true  satire;  for  there  are 
many  scientific  persons  who  seem  to  be  quite  reconciled  to  the  crushing 
of  humanity  by  a vague  mechanical  environment  in  which  there  are 
wheels  within  wheels.  But  the  inner  restraint  of  the  artist  is  sug- 
gested in  the  treatment  of  the  torment  itself;  which  is  suggested  by  a 
certain  rending  drag  in  the  garments,  while  the  limbs  are  limp  and  the 
head  almost  somnolent.  She  does  not  strive  nor  cry;  neither  is  her 
voice  heard  in  the  streets.  The  artist  had  not  to  draw  pain  but  to 
draw  despair;  and  while  the  pain  is  old  enough  the  particular  despair 
is  modern.  The  victim  racked  for  a creed  could  at  least  cry  “I  am 
converted.”  But  here  even  the  terms  of  surrender  are  unknowable; 
and  she  can  only  ask  “Am  I civilized?” 


G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


HUROPK,  1916 

“Am  I not  yet  sufficiently  civilized  ? ” 


33 


The  Next  to  Be  Kicked  Out — 
Dumba^s  Master 

UNCLE  SAM  is  no  longer  the  simple  New  England  farmer  of  a 
century  ago.  He  is  rich  beyond  calculation.  His  family  is 
more  numerous  than  that  of  any  European  country  save 
Russia.  His  interests  are  world-wide,  his  trade  tremendous,  his 
industry  complex,  his  finance  fabulous.  Above  all,  his  family  is  no 
longer  of  one  race.  The  hatreds  of  Europe  are  not  echoed  in  his 
house;  they  are  shared  and  reverberate  through  his  corridors.  It  is 
difficult,  then,  for  him  to  take  the  simple  views  of  right  and  wrong, 
of  justice  and  humanity,  that  he  took  a century  ago.  He  is  tempted 
to  balance  a hundred  sophistries  against  the  principles  of  freedom  and 
good  faith  that  yet  burn  strongly  within  him.  He  is  driven  to  tem- 
porize with  the  evil  thing  he  hates,  because  he  fears,  if  he  does  not, 
that  his  household  will  be  split,  and  thus  the  greater  evil  befall  him. 
But  those  that  personify  the  evil  may  goad  him  once  too  often.  Dumba 
the  lesser  criminal — as  also  the  less  dexterous — has  betrayed  himself 
and  is  expelled.  When  will  Bernstorff’s  turn  come?  That  it  will 
come,  indeed  must  come,  is  self-evident.  The  artist  sees  things  too 
clearly  as  they  are  not  to  see  also  what  they  will  be.  He  therefore 
skips  the  ignoble  interlude  of  prevarication,  quibble,  and  intrigue,  and 
gives  us  Uncle  Sam  happy  at  last  in  his  recovered  simplicity.  So  we 
see  him  here,  enjoying  himself,  as  only  a white  man  can,  in  a whole- 
hearted spurning  of  lies,  cruelty,  and  murder. 

Note  that  Bernstorff — the  victim  of  a gesture  “fortunately  rare 
amongst  gentlemen” — is  already  in  full  flight  through  the  air,  while 
Lbicle  Sam’s  left  foot  has  still  fifteen  inches  to  travel.  The  promise 
of  an  added  velocity  indicates  that  the  flight  of  the  unmasked  diplo- 
matist will  be  far.  The  sketched  vista  of  descending  steps  gives  us  the 
satisfaction  of  knowing  that  the  drop  at  the  end  will  be  deep.  Every 
muscle  of  our  sinewy  relative  is  tense,  limp,  and  projectile — the  mouth- 
piece of  Prussia  goes  to  his  inevitable  end.  There  is  no  need  of  a sequel 
to  show  him  shattered  and  crumpled  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairway. 

ARTHUR  POLLEN. 


34 


!I1F,  NEXT  lO  F>F  KICKED  OUT— DUMBA’S  MASTER 


35 


The  Friendly  Visitor 

RAEMAEKERS  is  never  false,  and  he  never  works  for  effect 
alone.  That  is  whal  makes  him  so  terrible  to  the  people  he 
criticises,  and  so  effective. 

When  he  wants  to  depict  the  sturdy  Dutch  soul  he  draws  a sturdy 
Dutch  Body — ready  to  defend  her  home.  No  flags,  no  highfalutin,  no 
symbolical  tigure  posed  for  show;  just  cleanliness,  determination,  and 
good  sense  facing  bestiality  and  oppression. 

The  figure  that  stands  for  the  Ereedom  of  the  Home  opposed  to 
the  figure  that  stands  for  the  Freedom  of  the  Seas. 

Many  an  I-Liiglishman  might  take  this  picture  to  heart. 

II.  DE  VERE  STACPOOLE. 


36 


HIE  FRIENDLY  VISITOR 

The  German  : " 1 come  as  a friend.” 

Holland  : ‘‘Oh,  yes.  I’ve  heard  that  from  my  Belgian  sister.” 


37 


“To  Your  Health.,  Civilization!^’ 

This  terrible  cartoon  points  its  own  lesson  so  forcibly  that  its 
effect  is  more  likely  to  be  weakened  than  strengthened  by 
any  verbal  comment.  Death  quaffs  a goblet  of  human  blood 
to  the  health  of  Civilization.  Death  has  never  enjoyed  such  a carnival 
of  slaughter  before,  and  it  is  Civilization  that  has  made  the  holocaust 
possible.  The  comparatively  simple  methods  of  killing  employed  by 
barbarians  could  not  have  destroyed  so  many  lives;  nor  could  bar- 
barian states  have  raised  such  huge  armies.  The  artist  makes  us 
feel  that  such  a war  as  this  is  an  act  of  moral  madness,  a disgrace  to 
our  common  humanity.  It  is  true  that  some  of  the  nations  engaged  are 
guiltless,  and  others  almost  guiltless;  but  there  is  a solidarity  of  Euro- 
pean civilization  which  obliges  us  all  to  share  the  shame  and  sorrow 
of  this  monstrous  crime.  Universal  war  is  the  reductio  ad  absurdum 
of  false  political  theories  and  false  moral  ideals;  and  the  reductio  ad 
absurdum  is  the  chief  argument  which  Providence  uses  with  mankind. 
Perhaps  it  is  the  only  argument  which  mankind  in  the  mass  can  under- 
stand. 

THE  DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL’S. 


38 


'f5'*V  V 


! a‘^'‘ 

I Vi,-^f ! \ 


;>:ll^«'^{fc;i>'j'.  »« ^,-i.  .^>- 


“ TO  YUUK  IIEALIH,  CIVILIZATION! 


Fox  Tirpitz  Preaching  to  the  Geese 


HERE  is  nothing  more  pathetic  in  some  ways  to-day  than  the 


position  of  the  small  neutral  countries  in  Europe,  and  especially 


those  which  directly  adjoin  Germany.  And  there  is  nothing 
more  galling  than  the  inability  of  the  Allies  to  give  them  any  help. 
For  the  hour  they  are  absolutely  at  the  mercy  of  Germany,  or  would  be, 
if  she  had  any,  and  they  know  it.  They  are  certainly  liable  and  exposed 
to  all  her  flouts  and  cuffs  and  to  any  displays  of  bad  temper  or  bullying 
or  terrorism  it  may  please  her  to  exercise.  And  none  perhaps  is  worse 
off  in  this  respect  than  Holland.  It  suits  Germany  to  be  fairly  civil  to 
Switzerland,  who  could  give  her  a good  deal  of  trouble  by  joining  France 
and  Italy;  and  no  doubt  it  suits  her  too  to  some  extent  to  consider 
Denmark,  for  Denmark  commands  the  entrance  to  the  Baltic;  and, 
further,  Germany  does  not  wish  to  bring  all  Scandinavia  down  upon 
herself  just  at  present.  That  can  wait;  but  Holland  is  in  the  worst 
plight  of  all.  She  has  the  terrible  spectacle  of  Belgium,  ruined  and 
ravaged,  just  on  the  other  side  of  the  way.  And  she  has  a very  con- 
siderable and  valuable  mercantile  marine. 

The  great  and  good  Germany  cannot  be  troubled  to  distinguish 
between  Dutch  and  other  boats,  and  if  occasionally  a Dutch  ship  is 
captured  or  sent  to  the  bottom,  it  is  a useful  reminder  of  what  she 
might  do  to  her  “poor  relation”  if  she  really  let  herself  go.  Fighting 
for  the  freedom  of  the  seas!  Holland  has  fought  for  them  herself. 
Holland  has  a great  naval  tradition.  She  knows  quite  well  what  Eng- 
land has  been  and  is.  She  knows  too,  and  can  see,  how  her  sons  and 
brothers  in  South  Africa  were  treated  by  the  British  in  England’s 
last  war,  and  how  they  regard  England  and  Germany  now. 

Raemaekers’  cartoon  is  very  skilful.  If  we  had  not  seen  it  done, 
we  should  not  have  believed  it  possible  to  produce  at  once  so  clever  a 
likeness  of  Von  Tirpitz  and  so  excellent  an  old  fox.  But  the  goose  is 
by  no  means  a foolish  bird,  though  its  wisdom  may  sometimes  be 
shown  in  knowing  its  own  weakness.  It  was  they,  and  not  the  watch- 
dogs, that  saved  the  Capitol.  In  old  days  it  was  the  custom  to  call  the 
Germans  the  “High  Dutch”  and  the  inhabitants  of  Holland  the  “Low 
Dutch.”  It  was  a geographical  distinction.  The  contrast  in  moral 
elevation  is  the  other  way. 


HERBERT  WARREN. 


40 


FOX  'HR  PIT/  PRFACIIING  TO  III  I',  CA-.ESV 

" ^ ou  see,  my  little  Dutch  geese,  I am  fighting  for  the  freedom  of  the  seas.” 
(The  Germans  illegally  captured  several  Dutch  ships.) 


11 


The  Prisoners 

A VILE  feature  of  German  “frighlfiiiness”  is  this:  that  she 

mixes  poison  with  her  prisoners’  rations.  Not  content  with 
starving  their  l)odies,  she  hides  truth  from  them  and  floods 
their  minds  with  lies.  Those  in  command — officers,  educated  men, 
claiming  the  service  of  their  soldiers  and  civil  guard  and  the  respect 
of  their  nation — deliberately  hash  a daily  meal  of  falsehood  and  serve 
up  German  victories  and  triumphs  on  land  and  sea  as  sauce  to  the 
starvation  diet  of  their  defenceless  captives. 

In  the  earlier  months  of  the  war,  while  yet  the  spiritual  slough  into 
which  Germany  had  sunk  was  unguessed,  and  the  mixture  of  child  and 
devil  exemplified  by  “frightfulness”  continued  unfathomed,  these 
daily  lies  undoubtedly  answered  their  cowardly  purpose,  cast  down 
the  spirit  of  thousands,  and  added  another  pang  to  their  captivity. 
But  our  armies  know  better  now,  and  those  diminishing  numbers 
likely  to  be  taken  prisoner  in  the  future  see  the  end  more  clearly  than 
the  foe  can.  Lies  will  be  met  with  laughter  henceforth,  for  our  enemies 
have  put  themselves  beyond  the  pale.  They  may  starve  and  insult 
our  bodies;  but  their  power  to  poison  our  brains  has  passed  from 
them  forever.  We  know  them  at  last.  They  have  spun  a web  of 
barbed  villainy  between  their  souls  and  ours;  and  the  evil  committed 
for  one  foul  purpose  alone — to  terrify  free  men  and  break  the  spirit  of 
the  sons  of  liberty — has  produced  results  far  different  and  created  a 
situation  more  terrible  for  them  than  for  their  outraged  enemies. 

For  in  this  matter  of  misrepresentation  and  lying,  born  of  Prussia 
and  by  her  spoon-fed  pack  of  martinets,  professors,  and  Churchmen, 
mingled  with  Germany’s  daily  bread  for  a generation,  it  is  she  and  not 
we  who  will  reap  the  whirlwind  of  that  sowing;  it  is  she  and  not  we  who 
must  soon  pant  and  tear  the  breast  in  the  pangs  of  the  poison. 

Between  the  mad  and  the  sane  there  can  be  only  one  victor;  and 
when  the  time  comes,  may  Germany’s  robe  of  repentance  be  a strait- 
waistcoat  of  the  Allies’  choosing.  For  she  has  drunk  deep  of  the  poison, 
and  those  who  anticipate  a speedy  cure  will  be  as  mad  as  she.  When 
the  escaped  tigress  is  back  in  her  cage,  men  look  to  the  bars,  for  none 
wants  a second  mauling. 

EDEN  PHILLPOTTS. 


42 


-’vr 


11  IE  PRISONERS 


13 


Ifs  Unbelievable 

I AM  not  sure  that  in  this  cartoon  of  Raemackers  the  most  pleasing 
detail  is  not  the  servant’s  right  eye.  A^ou  will  observe  in  that 
servant’s  right  eye  an  expression  familiar  in  those  who  over- 
hear this  sort  of  comment  upon  the  peculiar  bestialities  of  the  Prus- 
sian in  Belgium  and  Poland,  this  extenuation  of  his  baseness.  When 
the  war  was  young  the  opportunity  for  giving  that  glance  was  com- 
moner than  it  is  now.  There  were  many  even  in  a belligerent  country 
who  would  tell  you  in  superior  fashion  how  foolishly  exaggerated  were 
the  so-called  “atrocities.”  The  greater  number  of  such  men  (and 
women)  talked  of  “two  Germanies” — one  the  nice  Germany  they  knew 
and  loved  so  well,  and  the  other  apparently  nasty  Germany  which 
raped,  burned,  stole,  broke  faith,  tortured,  and  the  rest.  Their 
number  has  diminished.  But  there  is  a little  lingering  trace  of  the  sort 
of  thing  still  to  be  discovered:  men  and  women  who  hope  against  hope 
that  the  Prussian  will  really  prove  good  at  heart  after  all.  And  it  is 
usually  just  after  some  expression  of  the  kind  that  the  most  appalling 
news  arrives  with  a terrible  irony  to  punctuate  their  folly.  It  reminds 
one  a little  of  the  man  in  the  story  who  was  sure  that  he  could  tame  a 
wild  cat,  and  was  in  the  act  of  recording  its  virtues  when  it  flew  in  his 
face.  To  an  impartial  observer  who  cared  nothing  for  our  sufferings 
or  the  enemy’s  vices,  there  would  be  something  enormously  comic  in 
the  vision  of  these  few  remaining  (for  there  are  still  some  few  remaining) 
that  approach  the  wild  beast  with  soothing  words  and  receive  as  their 
only  reward  a very  large  bomb  through  the  roof  of  their  house,  or  the 
news  that  some  one  dear  to  them  has  been  murdered  on  the  high  seas. 
But  to  those  actively  suffering  in  the  struggle  the  comic  element  is 
difficult  to  seize,  and  it  is  replaced  by  indignation.  This  fantastic 
misconception  of  the  thing  that  is  being  fought  is  bound  to  be  burned 
right  out  by  the  realities  of  the  enemy  acts  in  belligerent  countries.  It 
will  be  similarly  destroyed — and  that  in  no  very  great  space  of  time- 
in  all  neutral  countries  as  well.  Prussia  will  have  it  so.  She  is  allowing 
no  moral  defence  to  remain  for  her  future.  It  is  almost  as  though  the 
men  now  directing  her  affairs  lent  ear  carefully  to  every  word  spoken  in 
praise  of  them  abroad,  and  met  it  at  once  by  the  tremendous  denial 
of  example.  It  is  almost  as  though  the  Prussian  felt  it  a sort  of  per- 
sonal insult  to  receive  the  praise  of  dupes  and  fools,  and  perhaps  it  is. 

HILAIRE  BELLOC. 


44 


H’S  UNBEUEVABLK 

1)UTC}1  Um-icer  : " Mow  can  they  have  soiletl  their  hands  h\-  such  atrocities?” 
Shi-  : ” Can  the>’  have  done  it,  my  dear?  (ierman  officers  are  so  nice.” 


15 


• r 


Kreuzland,  Kreuzland  Uber  Alles 

This  war  has  produced  examples  of  every  kind  of  misery  which 
human  beings  can  inflict  upon  each  other,  except  one.  Europe 
has  mercifully  been  s])ared  long  sieges  of  populous  towns, 
ending  in  Ihe  surrender  of  the  starving  population.  But  many  towns 
and  villages  have  been  burnt;  and  masses  of  refugees  have  fled  before 
the  invader,  knowing  too  well  the  brutal  treatment  which  they  had  to 
expect  if  they  remained.  Very  many  of  the  unhappy  Belgians  have 
taken  refuge  in  Holland;  a considerable  number  have  found  an  asylum 
in  this  country.  They  are  homeless  and  ruined;  if  the  war  were  to  end 
to-morrow,  many  of  them  would  not  know  where  to  go  or  how  to  live. 
Families  have  been  broken  up;  husbands  and  wives,  parents  and  chil- 
dren, are  ignorant  of  each  other’s  fate.  In  this  picture  we  see  a crowd 
of  children,  herded  together  like  a flock  of  sheep,  with  nobody  to  take 
care  of  them.  Their  via  dolorosa  is  marked  by  long  rows  of  crosses  on 
either  side,  emblems  of  suffering,  death,  and  sacrifice.  In  the  distance 
rise  the  smoke  and  flames  from  one  of  the  innumerable  incendiary  fires 
which  the  Germans,  like  the  cruel  banditti  of  the  Middle  Ages,  have 
kindled  wherever  they  go. 

THE  DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL’S. 


46 


KKKUZI.ANl),  KKI-.UZl.ANI)  U!5ER  ALU'S 

I’lELCiiLiM,  1014  : “ \\  ticrc  are  (jur  fathers  ? ” 


/ 


The  Ex-convict 

PRUSSIA  in  every  war  has  betrayed  that  peculiar  mark  of  bar- 
barism consisting  in  using  the  intellectual  weapons  of  a superior, 
but  not  knowing  how  to  use  them.  It  is  still  a matter  of  mys- 
tery to  the  directing  Prussian  mind  why  the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania 
should  have  shocked  the  world.  A submarine  cannot  take  a prize 
into  port.  The  Lusitania  happened  to  be  importing  goods  available 
in  war,  therefore  Ihe  Lusitania  must  be  sunk.  All  the  penumbra?  of 
further  consideration  which  the  civilized  man  weighs  escape  this  sort 
of  logic.  Similarly,  the  Prussian  argues,  if  an  armed  man  is  prepared 
to  surrender,  convention  decrees  that  his  life  should  be  spared.  There- 
fore, if  an  armed  man  be  just  fresh  from  the  murder  of  a number  of 
children,  he  has  but  to  cry  “Kamerad”  to  be  perfectly  safe.  And 
Prussia  foams  at  the  mouth  with  indignation  whenever  this  strict  rule 
of  conduct  is  forgotten  in  the  heat  of  the  moment.  The  use  of  poison 
in  the  held  which  Prussia  for  the  first  time  employed  (and  reluctantly 
compelled  her  civilized  opponents  to  reply  to)  is  in  the  same  boat. 
A shell  bursts  because  solid  explosive  becomes  gaseous.  To  use  shell 
which  in  bursting  wounds  and  kills  men  is  to  use  gas  in  war;  therefore 
if  one  uses  gas  in  the  other  form  of  poison,  disabling  one’s  opponent 
with  agony,  it  is  all  one.  Precisely  the  same  barbaric  use  of  logic — 
which  reminds  one  of  the  antics  of  an  animal  imitating  human  gestures 
— will  later  apply  to  the  poisoning  of  water  supplies,  or  the  spreading  of 
an  epidemic.  It  is  soldierly  and  excites  no  contempt  or  indignation  to 
strike  at  your  enemy  with  a sword  or  shoot  a pellet  of  lead  at  him  in 
such  a fashion  that  he  dies.  What  is  all  this  foolish  pother  about  killing 
him  with  bacilli  in  his  cisterns  or  with  a drop  of  poison  in  his  tea? 
Men  in  war  have  burned  groups  of  houses  with  the  torch  in  anger  or  for 
revenge.  Why  distinguish  between  that  and  the  methodical  sprinkling 
of  petroleum  from  a hose  by  one  gang  and  the  equally  methodical 
burning  of  the  whole  town  house  by  house  with  little  capsules  of  pre- 
pared incendiary  stuff?  The  rule  always  applies — but  only  against 
the  opponent : never  to  one’s  self.  From  that  attitude  of  mind  the  Prus- 
sian will  never  emerge.  We  shall,  please  God,  see  that  mood  in  all  its 
beauty  in  later  stages  of  the  war,  when  the  coercion  of  the  Prussian 
upon  his  own  soil  leads  to  acts  indefensible  by  Prussian  logic.  We 
have  already  had  a taste  of  this  sort  of  reasoning  when  the  royalties 
fled  from  Karlsruhe  and  when  the  murderers  upon  the  sinking  Zeppelin 
received  the  reward  due  to  men  who  boast  that  they  will  not  keep  faith. 

HILAIRE  BELLOC. 


48 


HIE  EX-CONVICT 

■ I was  a ■ lifer,’  hut  the>'  found  1 had  many  abilities  for  bringing  civilization 
amongst  f)ur  neighbours,  Sf)  now  I am  a soldier.” 


T9 


Miss  Cavell 

Most  of  the  Iflnglish  caricatiirisls  are  much  too  complimentary 
lo  the  German  Emperor.  They  draw  his  moustaches,  but 
not  his  face.  Now  his  moustaches  are  exactly  what  he, 
or  the  whole  Prussian  school  he  represents,  particularly  wishes  us  to 
look  at.  They  give  him  the  fierce  air  of  a lighting  cock;  and  however 
little  we  may  like  tierccness,  there  will  always  be  a certain  residual 
respect  for  fighting,  even  in  a cock.  Now  the  Junker  moustache  is 
a fake;  almost  as  much  so  as  if  it  were  stuck  on  with  gum.  It  is,  as 
Mr.  Belloc  has  remarked,  curled  in  a machine  all  night  lest  it  should 
hang  down.  Raemaekers,  in  the  sketch  which  shows  the  Kaiser  as 
waiting  for  Nurse  Cavclfs  death  to  say,  “Now  you  can  bring  me  the 
American  protest,”  has  gone  behind  the  moustache  to  the  face,  and 
behind  the  face  to  the  tyjie  and  the  spirit.  The  Emperor  is  not  com- 
manding in  a lordly  voice  from  a throne,  but  with  a leer  and  liehind  a 
curtain.  In  the  few  lines  of  the  lean,  unnatural  face  is  written  thereat 
history  of  the  Ilohenzollerns,  the  kind  of  history  not  often  touched  on 
in  our  comfortalile  English  humour,  but  common  to  the  realism  of 
Continental  art:  the  madness  of  Erederick  William,  the  perversion  of 
Erederick  the  Great,  the  hint,  mingled  with  snbtler  talents,  of  the  mere 
idiocy  that  seems  to  have  flowered  again  in  the  last  heir  of  that  in- 
Imman  house.  The  Ilohenzollerns  have  varied  from  generation  to 
generation  in  many  things  and  like  many  families;  some  of  them  have 
been  tyrants,  some  of  them  geniuses,  some  of  them  merely  boobies;  but 
they  have  shared  in  something  more  than  that  hereditary  i)olicy  which 
has  ])een  the  ])oison  in  Christendom  for  two  hundred  years.  There 
is  a ghost  who  inhabits  these  perishing  tenements,  and  in  such  a picture 
as  this  of  Raemaekers  men  can  see  it  looking  out  of  the  eyes.  And  it 
is  neither  the  spirit  of  a tyrant  nor  of  a booby;  but  the  spirit  of  a sly 
invalid. 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


50 


•MISS  CAVELL 


\\  1 1, LI  AM  ; “ Now  you  can  bring  me  the  American  protest." 


51 


The  Hostages 

AY,  boy — you  may  well  ask. 

/\  And  the  world  asks  also,  and  in  due  time  will  exact  an  answer — to 

y Y the  last  drop  of  innocent  blood. 

What  have  you  done? 

You  have  fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  most  scientifically  organized  barbarism 
the  world  has  ever  seen,  or,  please  God,  ever  will  see — to  whom,  of  deliberate 
choice,  such  words  as  truth,  honour,  mercy,  justice,  have  become  dead  letters,  by 
reason  of  the  pernicious  doctrines  on  which  the  race  has  been  nourished — by 
which  its  very  soul  has  been  poisoned. 

Dead  letters? — worn-out  rags,  the  very  virtues  they  once  represented,  even 
in  Germany,  long  since  Hung  to  the  dust-heaps  of  the  past  in  the  soulless  scramble 
for  power  and  a place  in  the  sun  which  no  one  denied  her. 

Deliberately,  and  of  malice  prepense,  the  military  caste  of  Prussia  has  taught, 
and  the  unhappy  common-folk  have  accepted,  that  as  a nation  they  are  past  all 
that  kind  of  thing.  There  is  only  one  right  in  the  world — the  might  of  the  strongest. 
The  weak  to  the  wall!  Make  way  for  the  Hun,  whose  god  is  power,  and  his  high- 
priests  the  Kaiser  and  the  Krupps. 

And  so,  every  nation,  even  the  smallest,  on  whom  the  eye  of  the  Minotaur 
has  settled  in  baleful  desire,  has  said,  “Better  to  die  fighting  than  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  devil!”  And  they  have  fought — valiantly,  and  saved  their  souls 
alive,  though  their  bodies  may  have  been  crushed  out  of  existence  by  overwhelming 
odds.  As  nations,  however,  they  shall  rise  again,  and  with  honour,  when  their 
treacherous  torturers  have  been  crushed  in  their  turn. 

And,  wherever  the  evil  tide  has  welled  over  a land,  indemnities,  incredible 
and  unreasonable,  have  been  exacted,  and  hostages  for  their  payment,  and  for  good 
behaviour  under  the  yoke  meanwhile,  have  been  taken. 

Woe  unto  such!  In  many  cases  they  have  simply  been  shot  in  cold  blood — 
murdered  as  brazenly  as  by  any  Jack-the-Ripper.  Murder,  too,  of  the  most 
despicable — murder  for  gain — the  gain  that  should  accrue  through  the  brutal 
terrorism  of  the  act  and  its  effect  on  the  rest. 

And,  if  deemed  advisable  to  gloss  the  crime  with  some  thin  veneer  of  imitation 
justice  for  the — uusuccessful — hoodwinking  of  a shocked  and  astounded  world,  what 
easier  than  an  unseen  shot  in  some  obscure  corner  from  a Cicrman  rifle?  Then — 
“ Death  to  the  hostages! — destruction  to  the  village! — a line  of  £100,000  on  the  town!” 

Those  provocative  shots  from  German  rifles  have  surely  been  the  most  profit- 
ably engineered  basenesses  in  the  whole  war.  They  have  justified — but  in  German 
eyes  only — every  committable  crime,  and  they  cost  nothing — except  the  souls  of 
their  perpetrators. 

“It’s  your  money  we  want — and  your  land — and  your  proiierty — and,  if 

necessary,  your  lives!  You  are  weak — we  are  strong — and  so !”  That  is  the 

simple  Credo  of  the  Hun. 

But  for  all  these  things  there  shall  come  a day  of  reckoning  and  the  account 
will  be  a heavy  one. 

May  it  be  exacted  to  the  full — from  the  rightful  debtors! 

“What  have  you  done?”  You  have  at  all  events  put  the  rope  round  the 
necks  of  your  murderers,  and  the  whole  world’s  hands  are  at  the  other  end  of  it. 

.lOHN  OXENHAM. 


52 


I I IK  HOSTAGES 
“ Father,  what  have  we  done  ? " 


King  Albert’s  Answer  to  the  Pope 

The  war  has  been  singularly  barren  of  heroic  figures,  perhaps 
because  the  magnitude  of  the  events  has  called  forth  such 
a multitude  of  individually  heroic  acts  that  no  one  can  be 
placed  before  the  rest;  yet,  when  this  greatest  phase  of  history  comes 
to  be  written  down  with  historic  perspective,  one  figure — that  of  King 
Albert  of  Belgium — will  stand  as  that  of  a twentieth-century  Bayard, 
a great  knight  without  fear  and  without  reproach. 

Action  on  such  far-flung  lines  as  those  of  the  European  conflict 
has  called  for  no  great  leaders  in  the  sense  in  which  that  phrase  has 
applied  to  previous  wars;  no  Napoleon  has  arisen,  though  William 
I lohenzollern  has  aspired  to  Napoleonic  dignity;  war  has  become  more 
mechanical,  more  a matter  of  mathematics — and  the  barbarians  of 
Germany  have  made  it  more  horrible.  But,  as  if  to  accentuate  German 
brutality  and  crime,  this  figure  of  King  Albert  stands  emblematic 
of  the  virtues  in  which  civilization  is  rooted;  to  the  broken  word  of 
Germany  it  opposes  untarnished  honour;  to  the  treacherous  spirit 
of  Germany  it  opposes  inviolable  truth;  to  the  relentless  selfishness  of 
Germany  it  opposes  the  vicarious  sacrifice  of  self,  of  a whole  country 
and  nation  for  the  sake  of  a principle.  And,  in  later  days,  men  will 
remember  how  this  truly  great  king  held  steadfastly  to  the  little  portion 
of  his  kingdom  that  the  invasion  left  him;  how  he  remained  to  inspirit 
his  men  by  noble  example,  stulibornly  rejecting  peace  without  honour, 
and  holding,  when  all  else  was  wrecked,  to  the  remnants  of  that  army 
which  saved  Europe  in  the  gateway  of  Liege.  Amid  violation,  dese- 
cration, and  destruction,  Albert  of  Belgium  has  won  imperishable 
fame. 

E.  CHARLES  VIYLVN. 


54 


KING  AI.BEKl'S  ANSWER  TO  1I1I-:  I’ORE 

“With  him  who  broke  his  word,  devastatetl  my  ccnintry,  burned  my  villages,  destro\ed  my  towns, 
desecrated  my  churches,  and  murdered  my  people,  I will  not  make  peace  befcme  he  is  expelleci  from  my 
country  and  punished  for  his  crimes.” 


00 


The  Gas  Fiend 

There  is  an  order  of  minds  that  intuitively  distrusts  Science,  detracts  from 
the  force  of  her  achievements,  and  contends  that  devotion  to  machinery 
ends  by  making  men  machines.  Many  who  argue  thus  have  fastened  on 
Germany’s  new  war  inventions  as  proof  that  Science  makes  for  materialism  and 
opposes  the  higher  values  of  humanity  and  culture. 

This  is  special  pleading,  for  against  the  destructive  forces  discovered  and 
liberated  by  German  chemists  in  this  war,  one  has  only  to  consider  the  vast  amelio- 
ration of  human  life  for  which  modern  science  has  to  be  thanked.  Because  art 
has  been  created  to  evil  purpose,  shall  we  condemn  pictures  or  statues?  Because 
the  Germans  have  employed  gas  poisons  in  warfare,  are  we  to  condemn  the  incal- 
culable gifts  of  organic  chemistry? 

Look  at  the  eye  of  Louis  Racmaekers’  snake.  That  is  the  answer.  It  is  the 
force  behind  this  application  of  it  that  has  brought  German  Science  to  shame.  A 
precious  branch  of  human  knowledge  has  been  prostituted  by  lust  of  blood  and  greed 
of  gain  until  Science,  in  common  with  all  learning,  comes  simply  to  be  regarded  by 
the  masters  of  Germany  as  one  more  weapon  in  the  armoury,  one  more  power  to  help 
win  “The  Day.”  Every  culture  is  treated  in  their  alembic  for  the  same  purpose. 

We  may  picture  the  series  of  experiments  that  went  to  perfection  of  their  poison 
gas;  we  may  see  their  Higher  Command  watching  the  death  of  guinea-pig,  rabbit, 
and  ape  with  increasing  excitement  and  enthusiasm  as  the  hideous  effects  of  their 
discovery  became  apparent.  Be  sure  an  iron  cross  quickly  hung  over  the  iron  heart 
that  conceived  and  developed  this  tilthy  arm;  for  does  it  not  offer  the  essence — 
quintessence  of  all  “frightfulness?”  Does  it  not  challenge  every  human  nerve- 
centre  by  its  horror?  Does  it  not,  once  proclaimed,  by  anticipation  awake  those 
very  emotions  of  dread  and  dismay  that  make  the  stroke  more  fatal  when  it  falls? 

These  people  pictured  their  snake  paralyzing  the  enemy  into  frozen  impotence; 
the  floundering  Prussian  psychology  that  cuts  blocks  with  a razor  and  regards 
German  mind  as  the  measure  of  all  mind,  anticipated  that  poison  gas  would  appeal 
to  British  and  French  as  it  has  appealed  to  them.  But  it  was  not  so.  Their  foresight 
gave  them  an  initial  success  in  the  field;  it  slew  a handful  of  men  with  additions 
of  unspeakable  agony — and  rekindled  the  execration  and  contempt  of  Civilization. 

As  an  arm,  poison  gas  cannot  be  considered  conspicuously  successful,  since  it 
is  easily  encountered;  but  for  the  Allies  it  had  some  value,  since  it  weighted  ap- 
preciably the  scale  against  Germany  in  neutral  minds  and  added  to  the  universal 
loathing  astir  at  the  heart  of  the  world.  Only  fear  now  holds  any  kingdom  neutral: 
there  is  not  an  impartial  nation  left  on  earth. 

EDEN  PHILLPOTTS. 


56 


THE  GAS  FIEND 


The  German  Tango 

A BLOND  woman,  wearing  the  Imperial  crown  and  with  her 
hair  braided  in  pigtails  like  a German  backfisch,  is  whirling 
in  the  tango  with  a skeleton  partner.  Her  face  is  livid  with 
terror  and  fatigue,  her  limbs  are  drooping,  but  she  is  held  by  inexorable 
bony  claws.  On  the  feet  of  the  skeleton  are  dancing  pumps,  a touch 
which  adds  lo  the  grimness.  This  ghoulish  dance  does  not  lack  its 
element  of  ghastly  ceremonial. 

The  Dance  of  Death  has  long  been  the  theme  of  the  moralist  in 
art,  from  Orcagna’s  fresco  on  the  walls  of  the  Campo  Santo  at  Pisa 
to  Holbein’s  great  woodcuts  and  our  own  Rowlandson.  In  Germany 
especially  have  these  macabre  imaginings  flourished.  The  phantasma- 
goria of  decay  has  haunted  German  art,  as  it  haunted  Poe,  from  Diirer 
to  Boecklin.  But  the  mediaeval  Dance  of  Death  was  stately  allegory, 
showing  the  pageant  of  life  brooded  over  by  the  shadow  of  mortality. 
In  M.  Raemaekers’  cartoon  there  is  no  dignity,  no  lofty  resignation. 
He  shows  Death  summoned  in  a mad  caprice  and  kept  as  companion 
till  the  revel  becomes  a whirling  horror. 

It  is  the  profoundest  symbol  of  the  war.  In  a hot  fit  of  racial 
pride  Death  has  been  welcomed  as  an  ally.  And  the  dance  on  which 
Germany  enters  is  no  stately  minuet  with  something  of  tragic  dignity 
in  it.  It  is  a common  modern  vulgar  shuffle,  a thing  of  ugly  gestures 
and  violent  motions,  the  true  sport  of  degenerates.  Once  begun  there 
is  no  halting.  From  East  to  West  and  from  West  to  East  the  dancers 
move.  There  is  no  rest,  for  Death  is  a pitiless  comrade.  From  such  a 
partner,  lightly  and  arrogantly  summoned,  there  can  be  no  parting. 
The  traveller  seeks  a goal,  but  the  dancers  move  blindly  and  aimlessly 
among  the  points  of  the  compass.  Death,  when  called  to  the  dance, 
claims  eternal  possession. 

JOHN  BUCHAN. 


58 


< rr  o ^ O' 


I t IE  GERMAN  I'ANGO 

" Erom  East  to  West  and  West  to  East  I dance  with  thee!  " 


59 


The  Zeppelin  Triumph 

WHEN  the  fiiliirc  historian  gives  to  another  age  his  account  of  all  that 
is  included  in  German  “frightfulness,”  there  is  no  feature  upon  which 
he  will  dilate  more  emphatically  than  the  extraordinary  use  made  by 
the  enemy  of  their  Zeppelin  fleet.  In  the  experience  we  have  gained  in  the  last 
few  months  we  discover  that  the  Zeppelins  are  not  employed — or,  at  all  events,  not 
mainly  employed — for  military  purposes,  but  in  order  to  shake  the  nerves  of  the 
non-combatant  population.  The  history  of  the  last  few  Zeppelin  raids  in  Eng- 
land is  quite  suflicient  testimony  to  this  fact.  London  is  bombarded,  although  it 
is  an  open  city,  and  a large  amount  of  damage  is  done  to  buildings  wholly  unconnected 
with  the  purposes  of  the  war.  The  persons  who  are  killed  are  not  soldiers,  they 
are  civilians;  the  buildings  destroyed  are  not  munition  works,  but  dwelling- 
houses,  and  some  of  the  points  of  attack  are  theatres. 

The  same  thing  has  happened  in  the  provinces.  In  the  last  raid  over  the 
Midlands  railway  stations  were  destroyed,  some  breweries  were  injured,  but,  with 
exceedingly  few  exceptions,  munition  works  and  factories  for  the  production  of  arms 
were  untouched.  Here  again  the  victims  are  not  either  soldiers  or  sailors,  or  even 
workmen  employed  in  turning  out  instruments  of  war,  but  peaceable  citizens  and 
a large  proportion  of  women  and  children. 

Some  such  act  of  brutality  is  illustrated  in  the  accompanying  cartoon.  A 
private  house  has  been  attacked,  the  mother  has  been  killed,  the  father  and 
child  are  left  desolate.  The  little  daughter  at  her  father’s  knee,  who  cannot  under- 
stand why  guiltless  people  should  suffer,  asks  the  importunate  question  whether 
her  mother  had  done  anything  wrong  to  deserve  so  terrible  a fate.  To  the  childish 
mind  it  seems  incomprehensible  that  aimless  and  indiscriminate  murder  should 
fall  on  the  guiltless. 

Indeed  the  mother  had  done  no  wrong.  She  only  happened  to  belong  to  one 
of  the  nations  who  are  struggling  against  a barbaric  tyranny.  In  that  reckless 
crusade  which  the  Central  Powers  are  waging  against  all  the  higher  laws  of  morality 
and  civilization,  some  of  the  heaviest  of  the  blows  fall  on  the  defenceless.  It  is 
this  appalling  inhumanity,  this  godless  desire  to  maim  and  wound  and  kill,  which 
nerves  the  arms  of  the  Allies,  who  know  that  in  a case  like  this  they  are  fighting 
for  freedom  and  for  the  Divine  laws  of  mercy  and  loving-kindness. 

And  it  is  for  the  young  especially  that  the  war  is  being  waged,  young  boys 
and  young  girls  like  the  motherless  child  in  the  picture,  in  order  that  they  may 
inherit  a Europe  which  shall  be  free  from  the  horrilile  burden  of  German  militarism, 
and  be  aide  to  live  useful  lives  in  peace  and  quietness.  No,  little  girl,  mother  did 
no  wrong!  But  we  should  be  guilty  of  the  deepest  wrong  if  we  did  not  avenge  her 
death  and  that  of  other  similar  victims  by  making  such  unparalleled  crimes 
impossible  hereafter. 

W.  L.  COURTNEY. 


60 


HIE  ZEPPEUN  TRIUMPH 
“But  Mother  had  done  ntjthing  wrong,  had  she,  Daddy?  ” 


61 


Keeping  Out  the  Enemy 

The  Prussian  turns  everything  to  account,  from  the  scrapings 
of  the  pig-trough  to  the  Austrian  Emperor. 

The  Bavarian  lists,  the  Saxon  lists,  the  Austrian  lists — 
these  are  all  only  indications  of  injuries  to  the  Prussian’s  life-saving 
waistcoat.  If  this  war  is  to  be  a war  to  the  last  penny  and  the  last  man, 
the  last  Austrian  will  die  before  the  last  Saxon,  the  last  Saxon  before 
the  last  Bavarian,  the  last  Bavarian  before  the  last  Prussian — and  the 
last  Prussian  will  not  die:  he  will  live  to  clutch  at  the  last  penny. 

And  the  pity  of  it  is  that  the  Austrian  is  quite  a good  fellow,  the 
Saxon  is  a decent  sort  of  man,  the  Bavarian  is  chiefly  a brute  in  drink, 
whilst  the  Prussian — we  all  know  what  the  Prussian  is,  the  black 
centre  of  hardness,  the  incarnation  of  the  shady  trick,  and  the  very 
complex  soul  of  mechanical  efTicicncy. 

The  Hohenzollern  here  makes  a sandbag  of  the  Hapsburg,  of  whom 
Fate  has  already  made  a football. 

Fate  has  always  l)een  behind  the  Hapsburg  for  his  own  sins  and 
those  of  his  house.  She  has  made  him  kneel  at  last. 

H.  DE  VERE  STACPOOLE. 


62 


^ ou  see  how  I manage  to  keep  the  enemy  out  of  niv  country! 


63 


The  German  Offer 

The  German  claim — not  the  Austrian  nor  the  Turk,  for  the 
alliance  following  Germany  is  to  l)e  allowed  little  force — is  that, 
the  civilization  of  Europe  now  being  defeated,  a Roman  pride 
may  be  generous  to  the  fallen.  Before  modern  (Germany  is  routed, 
as  may  l)e  seen  in  the  features  of  its  citizens,  the  nobility  of  its  public 
works,  and  the  admirable,  restrained,  and  classic  sense  of  its  literature, 
this  generosity  to  a humbled  world  will  take  the  form  of  letting  nations, 
of  right  independent,  enjoy  some  measure  of  freedom  under  a Cierman 
suzerainty.  In  the  matter  of  property  the  magnanimous  descendants 
of  Ercdcrick  and  William  the  Great  will  restore  the  machines  which 
cannot  be  wrenched  from  their  concrete  beds,  and  the  walls  of  the 
manufactories.  More  liquid  property,  such  as  jewellery,  furniture, 
pictures — and  coin  it  will  be  more  ditlicult  to  trace.  In  any  case, 
Europe  may  breathe  again,  though  with  a shorter  breath  than  it  did 
before  Germany  conquered  at  the  Marne.  . . . This  is  the  majestic 

vision  which  the  subtle  dii)lomats  of  Berlin  present  to  the  admiration 
of  the  neutral  Powers,  happily  free  from  wicked  passions  of  war,  and 
not  blinded,  as  are  the  British,  French,  Russians,  Italians,  Belgians,  and 
the  Serbians,  by  petty  spite.  Their  audience,  their  triple  audience,  is 
part  of  Greece,  some  of  the  public  of  Spain,  and  sections  of  that  of 
the  United  States.  To  the  French  and  the  British  armies  in  the  West, 
to  the  Russians  in  the  East,  and  to  the  Italians  upon  their  frontiers, 
the  terms  aj)pear  insullicient.  Therein  would  seem  to  lie  the  gravity 
of  Prussia's  case.  These  belligerent  Powers  will  go  so  far  as  to  demand 
more  than  the  mere  restoration  of  stolen  pro])erty,  from  cottage  furni- 
ture to  freedom.  And  their  anger  has  risen  so  high  that  they  even 
propose  to  make  the  ac((uirer  of  these  goods  suffer  very  bitterly  indeed. 
\Miat  idea  he  will  then  raise  under  discomforts  more  serious  than  those  he 
has  caused  to  the  ])easants  of  Flanders  and  of  Poland,  and  how  those 
pleas  will  affect  his  neutral  audience,  will  have  no  effect  whatever  on  the 
result  of  the  war,  or  on  his  own  unpleasing  fate.  Those  appeals  will  have 
a certain  interest,  however,  because  we  know  from  the  past  that  the 
German  mind  is  unstal)le.  Within  fifteen  short  months  it  proposed  the 
annihilation  of  the  French  armies  and  the  occupation  of  Paris.  It  failed. 
It  next  offered  terms  upon  suffering  defeat.  It  withdrew  them.  It  next 
made  certain  at  least  of  a conrfuest  of  Russia,  failed  again,  offered  terms 
again,  withdrew  them  again;  was  directed  to  the  blockading  of  England, 
failed;  thought  Egypt  better,  and  then  changed  its  mind.  It  was  but 
yesterday  in  the  mood  that  this  cartoon  suggests;  to-morrow  its  mood 
will  have  utterly  changed  again,  i^robably  to  a whine,  perhaps  to  a 
scream.  Such  instability  is  rare  in  the  history  of  nations  which  purpose 
a conf[uest  of  others,  and  it  is  a very  poor  furniture  for  the  mind. 

HILAIRE  BELLOC. 


I HE  German  ; "If  vouwill  let  me  keep  what  I have,  I will  let  van  go." 


6.J 


The  Wolf  Trap 

The  wolf  is  not  perhaps  the  beast  by  which  one  would  most 
wish  one’s  country  to  be  represented.  But  the  wolf,  like  every 
animal  when  defending  its  dearest,  and  when  assailed  with 
treachery,  has  its  nobility.  And  the  Roman  she-wolf  certainly  has 
had  in  all  ages  her  dignity  and  her  force. 

“Thy  nurse  will  hear  no  master, 

Thy  nurse  will  bear  no  load, 

And  woe  to  them  that  spear  her. 

And  woe  to  them  that  goad. 

When  all  the  pack  loud  baying 
Her  bloody  lair  surrounds. 

She  dies  in  silence  biting  hard 
Amidst  the  dying  hounds.” 

Italy  certainly  calls  not  only  for  our  sympathy,  but  for  our  admira- 
tion. She  has  had  a very  difficult  course  lo  steer.  The  ally  for  so 
long  of  Germany  and  Austria,  if  owing  them  less  and  less  as  time  went 
on,  it  was  difficult  for  her  to  break  with  them.  But  the  day  came 
when  she  had  to  break  with  them,  and  once  again  “act  for  herself.” 
She  told  them  a year  ago  she  would  be  a party  to  no  aggressive  or  selfish 
war,  she  would  l)e  no  l)ully’s  accomplice.  She  “denounced”— it  is 
a good  word — such  a compact.  Non  haec  in  fcedera  veni. 

Then  it  was,  when  the  she-wolf  showed  her  teeth,  that  they  offered 
to  give  her  what  was  her  own.  But  what  would  the  Trentino  be  worth 
if  Germany  and  Austria  were  victorious?  No,  the  wolf  is  right,  “she 
must  tight  for  it,”  and  behind  Austria’s  underhanded  treachery  stands 
Germany’s  open  violence  and  guns. 

And  Italy  loves  freedom.  This  war  is  a war  made  by  her  people. 
As  of  old  her  King  and  her  diplomats  go  with  them  in  this  new  Resorgi- 
mento.  And  the  she-wolf  must  l)eware  the  trap.  She  needs  the  spirit 
again  not  only  of  her  people  and  of  Garibaldi  and  of  Victor  Emmanuel, 
but  of  Cavour.  And  she  has  it. 

The  cartoon  suggests  all  the  elements  of  the  situation.  The  wolf 
ponders  with  turned  head,  half  doubtful,  half  desperate.  The  poor 
little  cub  whimpers  pitifully.  The  hunters  disseml)le  their  craft,  the 
trap  waits  in  the  path  ready  to  spring.  It  is  not  even  concealed.  Is 
that  the  irony  of  the  artist,  or  is  it  only  due  to  the  necessity  of  making 
his  meaning  plain?  Whichever  it  is,  it  is  justified. 

HERBERT  WARREN. 


66 


IIIH  WOLF  IKAL 

‘‘  ^ ou  would  make  me  believe  that  I shall  have  my  cub  given  back  to  me,  but 
I know  1 shall  have  to  fight  for  it.” 


Ahasuerus  II. 

The  legend  of  the  Wandering  Jew  obsessed  the  imagination 
of  the  Middle  Age.  The  tale,  which  an  Armenian  bishop  first 
told  at  the  Abbey  of  St.  Albans,  concerned  a doorkeeper  in 
the  house  of  Pontius  Pilate — or,  as  some  say,  a shoemaker  in  Jerusalem 
— who  insulted  Christ  on  Ilis  way  to  Calvary.  He  was  told  by  Our 
Lord,  “I  will  rest,  but  thou  shalt  go  on  till  the  Last  Day.”  Christendom 
saw  the  strange  figure  in  many  places — at  Hamburg  and  Leipsic  and 
Lubeck,  at  Moscow  and  Madrid,  even  at  far  Bagdad.  Goodwives 
in  the  little  mediaeval  cities,  hastening  homeward  against  the  rising 
storm,  saw  a bent  figure  posting  through  the  snow,  with  haggard  face 
and  burning  eyes,  carrying  his  load  of  penal  immortality,  and  seeking 
in  vain  for  “easeful  death.”  There  is  a profound  metaphysic  in  such 
popular  fancies.  Good  and  evil  are  alike  eternal.  Arthur  and  Charle- 
magne and  Ogier  the  Dane  are  only  sleeping  and  will  yet  return  to  save 
their  peoples;  and  the  Wandering  Jew  staggers  blindly  through  the 
ages,  seeking  the  rest  which  he  denied  to  his  Lord. 

In  George  Meredith’s  “Odes  in  Contribution  to  the  Song  of  French 
History”  there  is  a famous  passage  on  Napoleon.  France,  disillu- 
sioned at  last, 

“ Perceives  him  fast  to  a harsher  Tvrant  bound; 

Self-ridden,  self-hunted,  captive  of  his  aim; 

Material  gradeur’s  ape,  the  Infernal’s  hound.” 

That  is  the  penalty  of  mortal  presumption.  The  Superman  who 
would  shatter  the  homely  decencies  of  mankind  and  set  his  foot  on  the 
world’s  neck  is  himself  bound  captive,  fie  is  the  slave  of  the  djinn 
whom  he  has  called  from  the  unclean  deeps.  There  can  be  no  end 
to  his  quest.  Weariness  does  not  bring  peace,  for  the  whips  of  the 
Furies  are  in  his  own  heart. 

The  Wandering  Jew  of  the  Middle  Age  was  ti  figure  sympathetically 
conceived.  He  had  still  to  jiay  the  price  in  his  tortured  body,  but 
his  soul  was  at  rest,  for  he  had  repented  his  folly.  Raemaekers  in 
his  cartoon  follows  the  conception  of  Gustave  Dore  rather  than  that 
of  the  old  fabulists.  The  modern  Ahasuerus  has  no  surety  of  an  eventual 
peace.  We  have  seen  the  German  War  Lord  Hitting  hungrily  from 
Lorraine  to  Poland,  from  Flanders  to  Nish,  watching  the  failure  of 
his  troops  before  Nancy  and  Yjires,  inditing  grandiose  proclamations 
to  Furojic,  prophesying  a peace  which  never  comes.  He  is  a figure 
worthy  of  Cireek  tragedy.  The  v/3pi^  which  defied  the  gods  has  put 
him  outside  the  homely  consolations  of  mankind.  He  has  devoted  his 
people  to  the  Dance  of  Death,  and  himself,  like  some  new  Orestes,  can 
find  no  solace  though  he  seek  it  wearily  in  the  four  corners  of  the  world. 

JOHN  BUCHAN. 


68 


] 


AIIASUERUS  [RETURNS 

“Once  I drove  the  Christ  out  of  my  door;  now  1 am  tloomed  tcj  walk  from  the 
Northern  Seas  to  the  Southern,  from  the  Western  shores  to  the  Eastern  mountains,  asking 
for  Peace,  and  none  will  give  it  to  me.’’ — From  the  Legend  of  the  “ IVaudenng  Jew.” 

o9 


Our  Candid  Friend 

The  position  of  Holland  and  Denmark  is  one  of  excruciating 
anxiety  to  the  citizens  of  those  countries.  They  know  that 
the  Allies  are  lighting  the  battle  of  their  own  political  existence, 
but  they  are  so  hypnotized  with  well-founded  terror  of  the  implacable 
tyrant  on  their  think  that  they  are  not  only  bound  to  neutrality,  but  are 
afraid  to  express  their  sympathies  too  plainly.  Dutch  editors  have 
been  admonished  and  punished  under  pressure  from  Berlin;  the  bril- 
liant artist  of  these  cartoons  is  in  danger  on  his  native  soil.  A leading 
German  newspaper  has  lately  announced  that  “we  will  make  Holland 
pay  with  interest  for  these  insults  after  the  war.”  A German  victory 
would  inevitably  be  followed  in  a few  years  by  the  disappearance  from 
the  map  of  this  gallant  and  interesting  little  nation,  our  plucky  rival 
in  time  past,  our  honoured  friend  to-day.  No  nation  has  established 
a stronger  claim  to  maintain  its  independence,  whether  we  consider 
the  heroic  and  successful  struggles  of  the  Dutch  for  religious  and 
political  liberty,  their  triumphs  in  discovery,  colonization,  and  naval 
warfare,  their  unique  contributions  to  art,  or  the  manly  and  vigorous 
character  of  their  people.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  we  have  no  designs 
upon  any  Dutch  colony! 

THE  DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL’S. 


70 


1 


T ' — 

1’^ 


nt-maer'' 


OUr^  CAN’ DID  FRIFNI) 


Germany,  to  Holland;  I shall  have  to  swallow  \-ou  up,  if  only  to  prevent 
those  Fnglish  taking  your  colonies.” 


71 


Peace  and  Intervention 

Here  is  pictured  a grim  fact  that  the  Peace  cranks  would  do  well 
to  see  plainly.  The  surgeon  who  is  operating  on  a cancer  case 
cannot  allow  himself  to  l)e  satisfied  with  merely  the  removal 
of  the  visible  growth  which  is  causing  such  present  agony  to  the  pa- 
tient. He  must  cut  and  cut  deep,  must  go  beyond  even  the  visible 
roots  of  the  disease,  slice  down  into  the  clear,  firm  flesh  to  make  sure 
and  doubly  sure  that  he  has  cut  away  the  last  fragment  of  the  tainted 
tissues.  Only  by  doing  so  can  he  reasonably  hope  to  prevent  a recur- 
rence of  the  disease  and  the  necessity  of  another  operation  in  the 
years  to  come.  And  so  only  by  carrying  on  this  war  until  the  last  and 
least  possibility  of  the  taint  of  militarism  remaining  in  the  German  sys- 
tem is  removed  can  the  Allies  be  satisfied  that  their  task  is  complete. 
Modern  surgery  has  through  anaesthetics  taken  away  from  a patient 
the  physical  pain  of  most  operations,  but  modern  War  affords  no  relief 
during  its  operation.  That,  however,  can  be  held  as  no  excuse  for 
refusing  to  “use  the  knife.”  What  would  be  said  of  the  surgeon  who, 
because  an  operation — a life-saving  operation — was  causing  at  the  time 
even  the  utmost  agony,  stayed  his  hand,  patched  up  the  wound,  was 
content  only  to  stop  the  momentary  pain,  and  to  leave  firm-rooted  a 
disease  which  in  all  human  proliability  would  some  time  later  break 
out  again  in  all  its  virulence?  What  would  be  said  of  such  a surgeon  is 
only  in  lesser  degree  what  would  be  said  by  posterity  of  the  Allies  if 
they  consented  or  were  persuaded  to  apply  the  bandage  and  healing 
herbs  of  Peace  to  the  disease  of  Militarism,  to  make  a surface  cure  and 
leave  the  living  tentacles  of  the  disease  to  grow  again  deep  and  strong. 
But  here  at  least  the  doctors  do  not  disagree.  Once  and  for  all  the  Ally 
surgeons  mean  to  make  an  end  to  Militarism.  The  sooner  the  Peace 
cranks  and  Germany  realize  that  the  sooner  the  operation  will  be  over. 

BOYD  CiVBLE. 


72 


PEACH  AND  INTFPvVFNTlON— GERMAN  Mil, I TAKISM  ON  HIE 

OPERA  riNG-TABl.E 

“ For  the  sake  of  the  world’s  future  we  must  first  use  the  knife." 


73 


Little  Red  Riding  Hood 

IF  YOU  wish  to  see  the  position  of  Holland  look  at  the  map  of  Europe 
as  it  was  before  iVugust  4,  1914,  and  the  map  of  Europe  as  it 
is  to-day. 

In  1914  Holland  lay  overshadowed  by  the  vast  ui)per  jaw-bone 
of  a monster  lYussia — a jaw-bone  reaching  from  the  Dollart  to  Aix- 
la-r.hai)elle. 

In  August  and  September,  1914,  Prussia,  by  the  seizure  of  Belgium, 
develo])ed  a lower  jaw-bone  reaching  from  Aix-la-Cdiapelle  to  Cassan- 
dria  on  the  West  Schelde.  To-day  Holland  lies  gripped  between  these 
two  formidable  mandibles  that  are  ready  and  waiting  to  close  and  crush 
her.  For  years  and  years  Prussia  has  been  waiting  to  devour  Holland. 
A4iy?  For  the  simple  reason  that  Holland  is  rich  in  the  one  essential 
thing  that  Prussia  lacks-  coast-line. 

Look  again  at  the  map  and  see  how  Holland  and  Belgium  together 
absolutely  wall  Prussia  in  from  the  sea.  Belgium  has  been  taken  on 
by  Prussia:  if  we  do  not  tear  that  lower  jaw  from  Prussia,  Holland 
will  be  lost,  and  the  sea-power  of  England  threatened  with  destruction. 

44ic  rufhan  with  the  automatic  pistol  waiting  behind  the  tree 
requires  the  life  as  well  as  the  basket  of  the  little  figure  advancing 
toward  him. 

He  has  been  in  ambush  for  forty  years. 

H.  DE  VERE  STACPOOLE. 


74 


The  Sea  Mine 

WHEN  Raemaekers  pictures  Von  Tirpilz  to  us,  he  does  so 
with  savage  scorn.  He  is  not  the  hard-bitten  pirate  of 
story — but  a senile,  crapulous,  lachrymose  imbecile;  an 
object  of  derision.  He  tits  more  with  one  of  .Jacob’s  tales  of  long- 
shore soakers,  than  with  the  tragedies  that  have  made  him  infamous. 
But  when  he  draws  Von  Tirpitz’s  victims,  the  touch  is  one  of  almost 
harrowing  tenderness.  The  Hun  is  a master  of  many  modes  of  killing, 
but  however  lorn,  or  twisted,  or  tortured  he  leaves  the  murdered, 
Raemaekers  can  make  the  dreadful  spectacle  bearable  by  the  piercing 
dignity  with  which  he  portrays  the  dead.  In  none  of  these  cartoons 
is  his  ssva  imlignalio  rendered  with  more  sheer  beauty  of  design,  or 
with  a craftsmanship  more  exquisite,  than  in  this  monument  to  the 
sea-mined  prey.  The  symljolism  is  perfect,  and  of  the  essence  of  the 
design.  The  dead  sink  slowly  to  their  resting-place,  but  the  merciful 
twilight  of  the  sea  veils  from  us  the  glazed  horror  of  the  eyes  that 
no  piety  can  now  close.  Even  the  dumb,  senseless  fish  shoots  from  the 
scene  in  mute  and  terrified  protest,  while  from  these  poor  corpses 
there  rise  surfaceward  the  silver  bubbles  of  their  expiring  breath. 
One  seems  to  see  crying  human  souls  prisoned  in  these  spheres.  And 
it  is,  indeed,  such  sins  as  these  that  cry  to  Heaven  for  vengeance. 
Blood-guiltiness  must  rest  upon  the  heads  of  those  that  do  them,  upon 
the  heads  of  their  children — aye,  and  of  their  children’s  children  too. 
This  exquisite  and  tender  drawing  is  something  more  than  the  record 
of  inexpiable  crime.  It  is  a prophecy.  And  the  prophecy  is  a curse. 

ARTHUR  POLLEN. 


76 


HIE  SEA  MINE 


t / 


rro  7 .•  5? 

deduction 


The  cartoon  in  which  the  Prussian  is  depicted  as  saying  to  his 
l)ound  and  gagged  victim,  “Ain’t  I a lovable  fellow?”  is  one 
of  the  most  pointed  and  vital  of  all  pictorial,  or  indeed  other, 
criticisms  on  the  war.  It  is  very  important  to  note  that  German 
savagery  has  not  interfered  at  all  with  German  sentimentalism.  The 
blood  of  the  victim  and  the  tears  of  the  victor  flow  together  in  an  nn- 
pleasing  stream.  The  effect  on  a normal  mind  of  reading  some  of  the 
things  the  Germans  say,  side  by  side  with  some  of  the  things  they  do,  is 
an  impression  that  can  quite  truly  be  conveyed  only  in  the  violent  para- 
dox of  the  actual  picture.  It  is  exactly  like  being  tortured  by  a man 
with  an  ugly  face,  which  we  slowly  realize  to  be  contorted  in  an  attempt 
at  an  affectionate  expression.  In  those  solilofiuies  of  self-praise  which 
have  constituted  almost  the  whole  of  Prussia’s  defence  in  the  inter- 
national controversy,  the  brigand  of  the  Belgian  annexation  has 
incessantly  said  that  his  apparent  hardness  is  the  necessary  accompani- 
ment of  his  inherent  strength.  Nietzsche  said:  “I  give  you  a new 
commandment:  Be  hard.”  And  the  Prussian  says:  “I  am  hard,” 
in  a prompt  and  respectful  manner.  But,  as  a matter  of  fact,  he  is 
not  hard;  he  is  only  heavy.  lie  is  not  indifferent  to  all  feelings; 
he  is  only  indifferent  to  everybody  else’s  feelings.  At  the  thought 
of  his  own  virtues  he  is  always  ready  to  burst  into  tears.  His  smiles, 
however,  are  even  more  frequent  and  more  fatuous  than  his  tears; 
and  they  are  all  leers  like  that  which  Mr.  Raemaekers  has  drawn  on  the 
face  of  the  expansive  Prussian  officer  in  the  arm-chair.  Compared 
with  such  an  exhibition,  there  is  something  relatively  virile  about  the 
tiger  cruelty  which  has  occasionally  defaced  the  record  of  the  Spaniard 
or  the  Arab.  But  to  be  conquered  by  such  Germans  as  these  would 
be  like  being  eaten  by  slugs. 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


78 


SEDUCriON 
“Ain’t  I a lovable  fellow  ? ’’ 


79 


Murder  on  the  High  Seas 


HE  recent  descent  of  so  many  of  her  citizens  from  the  people 


now  warring  in  luirope  has  of  necessity  prevented  America 


from  looking  on  events  in  Europe  with  a single  eye.  But  the  pre- 
dominant American  type  and  the  predominant  American  frame  of 
mind  are  still  typified  by  the  lithe  and  sinuous  figure  of  the  New 
England  pioneer.  It  is  his  tradition  to  mind  his  own  business,  but 
it  is  also  his  business  to  see  that  none  of  the  old  monarchies  make 
free  with  his  rights  or  with  his  ])eople.  And  he  stands  for  a race 
that  has  been  cradled  in  wars  with  savages.  No  one  knows  better 
the  methods  of  the  Apache  and  the  Mohawk,  and  when  women  and 
children  fall  into  such  pitiless  hands  as  these,  it  goes  against  the 
grain  with  Uncle  Sam  to  keep  his  hands  off  them,  even  if  the  women  and 
children  are  not  his  own.  He  would  like  to  be  indifferent  if  he 
could.  He  would  prefer  to  smoke  his  cigar,  and  pass  along,  and  be- 
lieve those  who  tell  him  that  it  is  none  of  his  affair.  But  when  he 
does  look — and  he  cannot  help  looking — he  secs  a figure  of  such 
hea\"^"  bestiality  that  his  gorge  rises.  He  must  keep  his  hands  clenched 
in  his  pockets  lest  he  soils  them  in  striking  down  the  blood-stained 
gnome  before  him. 

Can  he  restrain  himself  for  good?  That  angry  glint  in  his  eye 
would  make  one  doubt  it.  Here,  surely,  the  artist  sees  with  a truer 
vision  than  the  politician.  And  if  Uncle  Sam’s  anger  does  once  get  the 
better  of  him,  if  doubts  and  hesitations  are  ever  thrust  on  one  side,  if 
he  takes  his  stand  where  his  record  and  his  sympathies  must  make  him 
wish  to  be,  then  let  it  be  noted  that  this  base  butcher  stands  dazed  and 
paralyzed  by  the  threat. 


ARTHUR  POLLEN. 


80 


MURDER  ON  HIE  I IK ',11  SEAS 


“ W'ell,  have  you  nearly  done  ^ " 


81 


Ad  Finem 

Ay — TO  your  end! — to  your  end  amid  the  execrations  of  a 
ravaged  world!  Through  all  the  ages  one  other  only  has 
equalled  you  in  the  betrayal  of  his  trust.  May  your  sin  come 
home  to  you  before  you  go,  as  did  his!  May  his  despair  be  yours! 
It  is  most  desperately  to  be  regretted  that  no  personal  suffering  on 
your  part,  in  this  life  at  all  events,  can  ever  adeciuately  requite  you  for 
the  desolations  you  have  wrought. 

Outrage  on  outrage  thunders  to  the  sky 
The  tale  of  thy  stupendous  infamy, — 

Thy  slaughterings, — thy  treacheries, — thy  thefts, — 

Thy  broken  pacts, — thy  honour  in  the  mire, — 

Thy  poor  humanity  cast  off  to  sate  thy  pride; — 

’Twerc  better  thou  hadst  never  lived, — or  died 
Ere  come  to  this. 

I heard  a great  Voice  pealing  through  the  heavens, 

A Voice  that  dwarfed  earth’s  thunders  to  a moan: — 

Woe!  Woe!  Woe,  to  him  bij  whom  this  came! 

His  house  shall  unto  him  be  desolate 
And,  to  the  end  of  time,  his  name  shalt  be 
A byword  and  reproach  in  all  the  lands 
He  repined.  . . . And  his  own  shall  curse  him 

For  the  ruin  that  he  brought. 

Who  without  reason  dr  cans  the  sword — 

By  sword  shcdl  perish! 

The  Lord  hedh  scud.  . . . So  be  it.  Lord! 

.JOHN  OXENHAM. 


82 


ro  HIE  END 

War  and  Hunger  ; “Now  you  must  accompany  us  to  the  end.’’ 
' he  Kaiser  ; “ Yes.  to  my  end.’’ 


83 


IT  IS  the  essence  of  great  cartooning  to  see  things  simply,  and  to 
command  the  technical  resources  that  shall  show  Ihe  things,  so 
simply  seen,  in  an  inhnite  variety  of  aspects.  No  series  of  Rae- 
maekers’  drawing  better  exemplihes  his  ((uality  in  both  these  respects 
than  those  which  deal  with  Germany's  sea  crimes. 

In  the  cartoon  before  ns  the  immediate  message  is  of  the  simplest. 
The  Kaiser  counts  the  head  of  British  merchantmen  sunk.  Von 
Tirpitz  counts  the  cost.  But  note  the  subtlety  of  the  personation  and 
environment.  The  Kaiser  has  those  terrible  haunted  eyes  that  have 
marked  the  seer's  presentment  of  him  from  quite  an  early  stage  of  the 
war.  There  can  be  no  ultimate  escape  from  the  dreadful  vision  that 
has  set  the  seal  of  despair  on  this  line  and  handsome  visage.  He  is 
shown,  not  as  a sea  monster,  but  as  some  rabid,  evasive,  impatient  thing, 
dashing  from  ]:)oint  to  point — as  from  ])olicy  to  policy — with  the  angry 
swish  that  tells  the  unspoken  anger  failure  everywhere  compels.  For 
the  victories  do  not  bring  surrender,  nor  does  frightfulness  inspire  ter- 
ror. The  merchant  ships  still  put  to  sea — and  the  U boats  pay  the 
penalty. 

The  futility  of  this  campaign  of  murder  is  typified  by  making  Von 
Tirpitz,  its  inventor,  an  addle-headed  seahorse,  the  nursery  comedian 
of  the  sea.  Stupid  and  ridiculous  bewilderment  stares  from  his  foolish 
eyes.  Another  submarine  has  failed  to  (ind  a safe  victim  in  a trading 
ship,  but  has  been  hoisted  with  its  own  sea  petard.  The  impotence  of 
the  thing! 

This  conference  of  the  Admirals  of  the  Atlantic,  held  in  the  sombre 
depths,  is  a biting  satire,  in  its  mingled  comedy  and  tragedy,  on  the 
effort  to  win  command  of  the  sea  from  its  bottom. 

ARTHUR  POLLEN. 


8t 


■■  U’S” 

Mis  Majesiv  . " Well,  I ripitz,  you've  sunk  a great  many  ?" 
I'lRiM  rz  ; “ ^ es,  sire,  liere  is  another  ‘ U ' coming  down.” 


(So 


Mater  Dolorosa 

YOU  thought  to  grasp  the  world;  but  you  shall  keep 
Its  crown  of  curses  nailed  upon  your  brow. 

You  that  have  fouled  the  purple,  broke  your  vow, 
And  sowed  the  wind  of  death,  the  whirlwind  you  shall  reap. 

Shout  to  your  tribal  god  to  l)less  the  blood 
Of  this  red  vintage  on  the  poisoned  earth; 

Clash  cymbals  to  him,  leap  and  shout  in  mirth; 

Call  on  his  name  to  stay  the  coming,  cleansing  Hood. 


We  are  no  hounds  of  heaven,  nor  ravening  band 
Of  earthly  wolves  to  tear  your  kingdom  down. 

We  stand  for  human  reason;  at  our  frown 

The  coward  sword  shall  fall  from  your  accursed  hand. 


We  do  not  speak  of  vengeance;  there  shall  run 
No  little  children’s  blood  beneath  our  heel. 

No  pregnant  woman  suffers  from  our  steel; 
But  Justice  WT  shall  do,  as  sure  as  set  of  sun. 


Or  short,  or  long,  the  patlnvay  of  your  feet, 
Stamped  on  the  faces  of  the  innocent  dead, 

Must  lead  where  tyrant’s  road  hath  ever  led. 

Alone,  0 perjured  soul,  your  Justice  you  shall  meet. 

No  sacrilice  the  balance  of  her  scale 

Can  win;  no  gift  of  blood  and  iron  can  weigh 

Against  this  one  mad  mother's  agony: 

In  her  demented  cry  a myriad  wajmen  wail. 


The  ecpiinox  of  outraged  earth  shall  blaze 
And  flash  its  levin  on  your  infamous  might. 

Man  cries  to  fellow-man;  light  leaps  to  light. 

Till  foundered,  naked,  spent,  you  vanish  from  our  gaze. 

EDEN  PIIILEPOTTS. 


86 


MATER  DOLOROSA 


87 


^^Gott  Strafe  Italien!” 

WHEN  Italy,  still  straining  at  the  leash  which  held  her,  helpless, 
to  the  strange  and  unnatural  Triplice,  began  to  show  signs  of 
awakening  consciousness,  Germany’s  efforts  to  lull  her  back 
to  the  unhappy  position  of  silent  partner  in  the  world-crime  were  char- 
acteristic of  her  methods.  Forthwith  Italy  was  loaded  with  compli- 
ments. The  country  was  overrun  with  “diplomats,”  which  is  another 
name  in  (iermany  for  spies.  Bribery  of  the  most  brazen  sort  was 
attempted.  The  newspapers  recalled  in  chorus  that  Italy  was  the 
land  of  art  and  chivalry,  of  song  and  heroism,  of  fabled  story  and  manly 
effort,  of  honour  and  loyalty.  Hark  to  the  Hamburger  Fremdenhlatt 
of  February  21,  1915; 

“The  suggestion  is  made  that  Italy  favours  the  Allies.  Pre- 
posterous! Even  though  the  palsied  hand  of  England — filled  with  rob- 
ber gold — be  held  out  to  her,  Italy’s  vows,  Italy’s  sense  of  obligation, 
Italy’s  word  once  given,  can  never  be  broken.  Such  a nation  of  noblemen 
could  have  no  dealings  with  hucksters.” 

Germany  is,  indeed,  a fine  judge  of  a nation’s  “word  once  given” 
and  a nation's  “vows,”  which  its  Chancellor  unblushingly  declared 
to  be  mere  scraj^s  of  paj^er.  Now  let  us  see  what  the  Hamburger 
Nachriehten  had  to  say  about  Italy  immediately  after  her  secession 
from  the  Triple  Alliance:  “ A'achrichlen,  June  1,  1915.  That  Italy 

should  have  joined  hands  with  the  other  noble  gentlemen,  our  enemies, 
is  but  natural.  It  would,  of  course,  be  absurd — where  all  are  brigands 
— were  the  classical  name  of  brigandage  not  included  in  the  number. 
. . . We  do  not  propose  to  soil  our  clean  steel  with  the  blood  of 

such  filthy  Italian  scum.  With  our  cudgels  we  shall  smash  them  into 
pulp.” 

“Go/f  slrafe  Italien”  indeed!  Bombs  on  St.  Mark’s  in  Venice, 
on  the  Square  of  Verona,  on  world  treasures  unreplaceable.  The 
poisoned  breath  of  Ciermany  carries  its  venom  into  the  land  of  sun- 
shine and  song,  whose  best  day’s  work  in  history  has  been  to  wrest 
itself  free  from  the  grip  of  the  false  friend. 

RALPH  D.  BLUMENFELD. 


88 


“GOTT  STRAFE  ITAI.IEN!” 


I 

i 


I 


89 


Serbia 

SERBIA  has  suffered  the  fate  of  Belgium.  Germany  and  Austria, 
with  Bulgaria’s  aid,  have  plunged  another  little  country  “in 
blood  and  destruction.”  Another  “bleeding  piece  of  earth” 
bears  witness  to  the  recrudescence  of  the  ancient  barbarism  of  the  Huns. 
Serbia’s  wounds, 

“Like  dund)  mouths. 

Do  ope  their  ruby  lips,” 

to  beg  for  vengeance  on  “these  butchers.”  Turkey,  whom  the  artist 
portrays  as  a hound  lapping  uj)  the  victim’s  blood,  is  fated  to  share  the 
punishment  for  the  crime.  lEit  the  prime  instigator  is  the  German 
lAuperor,  whose  Chancellor,  with  bitter  irony,  claims  for  his  master 
the  title  of  protector  of  the  snuill  nationalities  of  Europe.  Herr  von 
l^ethmann-Hollweg  can  on  occasion  affect  the  mincing  accents  of  the 
wolf  when  that  beast  seeks  to  lull  the  cries  of  the  lamb  in  its  clutches, 
d’he  German  method  of  waging  war  has  rendered  “dreadful  objects 
so  familiar”  that  the  essential  brutality  of  the  enemy’s  activities 
runs  a risk  of  escaping  at  times  the  strenuous  denunciation  which 
Justice  demands.  But  the  searching  pencil  of  Mr.  Raemaekers  brings 
home  to  every  seeing  eye  the  true  and  unvarying  character  of  Teutonic 
“frightfulncss.”  All  instincts  of  humanity  are  cynically  defied  on  the 
specious  ground  of  military  necessity.  Mr.  Raemaekers  is  at  one  with 
Milton  in  repudiating  the  worthless  plea: 

“So  spake  the  fiend,  and  with  necessity, 

The  tyrant’s  plea,  excused  his  devilish  deeds.” 

SIR  SIDNEY  LEE. 


90 


OCTOBER  IN  SERBIA 

I'he  Austro-German-Bulgarian  attack  on  Serbia  began  in  October,  which  in 
Holland  is  called  the  “ butcher’s  month,”  as  the  cattle  are  then  killed  preparator\’ 
to  the  winter. 


91 


'^^Just  a Moment — Fm  Coming” 

Here  is  a drawing  that  ought  to  be  circulated  broadcast  through- 
out Australia  and  New  Zealand,  that  ought  to  hold  a place 
of  honour  on  the  walls  of  their  public  chambers;  should  hang 
in  gilded  frames  in  the  houses  of  the  rich;  be  pinned  to  the  rough  walls 
of  frame-house  and  bark  humpy  in  every  corner  of  “The  Outback.” 
It  should  thrill  the  heart  of  every  man,  woman,  and  child  Down 
Under  with  pride  and  thankfulness  and  satisfaction,  should  even  bring 
soothing  balm  to  the  wounds  of  those  who  in  the  loss  of  their  nearest 
and  dearest  have  paid  the  highest  and  the  deepest  price  for  the  flaming 
glory  of  the  Anzacs  in  Gallipoli. 

Here  in  the  artist’s  pencil  is  a monument  to  those  heroes  greater 
than  pinnacles  of  marble,  of  beaten  brass  and  carven  stone;  a monu- 
ment that  has  travelled  over  the  world,  has  spoken  to  posterity  more 
clearly,  more  convincingly,  and  more  rememberingly  than  ever  written 
or  word-of-month  speech  could  do.  It  is  to  the  everlasting  honour 
of  the  people  of  the  Anzacs  that  they  refrained  from  echoing  the 
idle  tales  which  ran  whispering  in  England  that  the  Dardanelles 
campaign  was  a cruel  blunder,  that  the  blood  of  the  Anzacs’  bravest 
and  best  had  been  uselessly  spilt,  that  their  splendid  young  lives 
had  been  an  empty  sacrifice  to  the  demons  of  Incompetence  and 
Inefficiency.  To  those  in  Australia  who  in  their  hearts  may  feel  that 
shreds  of  truth  were  woven  in  the  rumours — that  the  Anzacs  were 
spent  on  a forlorn  hope,  were  wasted  on  a task  foredoomed  to  failure — 
let  this  simple  drawing  bring  the  comfort  of  the  truth. 

The  artist  has  seen  deeper  and  further  than  most.  The  Turkish 
armies  held  from  pouring  on  Russia  and  Serbia,  from  thumping  down 
the  scales  of  neulralily  in  Greece  and  Roumania  perhaps,  from  massing 
their  troops  with  the  Gentral  Powers;  the  Kaiser  chained  on  the  East 
and  West  for  the  critical  months  when  men  and  munitions  were  desper- 
ately lacking  to  the  Allies,  when  the  extra  weight  of  the  Turks  might 
have  freed  the  Kaiser’s  power  of  fierce  attack  on  East  and  West 
this  is  what  we  already  know,  what  the  artist  here  tells  the  wide  world 
of  the  part  played  by  the  heroes  of  the  Dardanelles.  In  face  of  this, 
who  dare  hint  they  suffered  and  died  in  vain? 


BOYD  CABLE. 


93 


The  Holy  War 

SURELY  the  artist  when  he  drew  this  was  endowed  with  the 
wisdom  of  the  seer,  the  vision  of  the  prophet.  For  it  was 
drawn  l)efore  the  days  in  which  I write,  l)efore  the  Russian 
giant  had  proved  his  greatness  on  the  body  of  the  Turk,  Ijefore  the 
bludgeon-strokes  in  the  Caucasus,  the  heart-thrust  of  Erzerum,  the 
torrent  of  pursuit  of  the  broken  Turks  to  Mush  and  Trebizond. 

We  know — and  I am  grateful  for  the  chance  to  voice  our  gratitude 
to  him — the  greatness  of  our  Russian  Ally.  We  remember  the  early 
days  when  the  Kaiser’s  hosts  were  pouring  in  over  France,  and  the 
Russian  thrust  into  (falicia  drew  some  of  the  overwhelming  weight 
from  the  Western  Front.  We  realize  now  the  nobility  of  self-sacritice 
that  Hung  an  army  within  reach  of  the  jaws  of  destruction,  that  risked 
its  annihilation  to  draw  upon  itself  some  of  the  sword-strokes  that 
threatened  to  pierce  to  the  heart  of  the  West.  Our  national  and 
natural  instinct  of  admiration  for  a hard  tighter,  and  still  greater 
admiration  for  the  apex  of  good  sportmanship,  for  the  friend  or  foe 
who  can  “take  a licking,”  who  is  a “good  loser,”  went  out  even  more 
strongly  to  Russia  in  the  dark  days  when,  faced  by  an  overwhelming 
weight  of  metal,  she  was  forced  and  hammered  and  battered  back, 
losing  battle-line  after  battle-line,  stronghold  after  stronghold,  city 
after  city;  losing  everything  except  heart  and  dogged  punishment- 
enduring  courage. 

And  how  great  the  Russian  truly  is  will  surely  be  known  presently 
to  the  Turk  and  to  the  masquerading  false  “Prophet  of  Allah.” 

“No  one  is  great  save  Allah,”  says  William,  and  even  as  the 
Turk  spoke  more  truly  than  he  knew  in  calling  the  Russian  great, 
even  as  he  was  bitterly  to  realize  the  greatness,  so  in  the  fullness  of 
time  must  William  come  to  realize  how  great  is  the  Allah  of  the  Moslem, 
the  Christian  God  Whom  he  has  blasphemed,  and  in  Whose  name  he 
and  his  people  have  perpetrated  so  many  crimes  and  abominations. 

BOYD  CABLE. 


94 


THE  II(JI.^  WAR 
1 HE  I URK  : “ But  he  is  so  great.” 

WiLLi,\M  : ”No  one  is  great,  save  Allah,  and  I am  his  prophet.” 


95 


"Gott  Mit  Uns” 


WHEN  we  consider  the  public  utterances  of  the  German  clergy, 
we  can  very  easily  substitute  for  their  symbol  of  Christian 
faith  this  malignant,  grotesque,  and  inhuman  monster  of  Louis 
Raemaekers.  Indeed,  our  inclination  is  to  thrust  the  green  demon 
himself  into  the  pulpit  of  the  Fatherland;  for  his  wrinkled  skull  could 
hatch  and  his  evil  mouth  utter  no  more  diabolic  sentiments  than  those 
recorded  and  applauded  from  Lutheran  Leipsic,  or  from  the  University 
and  the  chief  Protestant  pulpit  in  Berlin. 

Such  sermons  are  a part  of  that  national  debacle  of  reasoning  faculty 
which  is  Ihe  price  intellectual  Germany  has  paid  for  the  surrender  of 
her  soul  to  Prussia. 


An  example  or  two  may  be  cited  from  the  outrageous  mass. 


Professor  Rheinhold  Seeby,  who  teaches  theology  at  Berlin  Univer- 
sity, has  described  his  nation’s  achievements  in  Belgium  and  Serbia 
as  a work  of  charity,  since  Germany  punishes  other  States  for  their  good 
and  out  of  love.  Pastor  Philippi,  also  of  Berlin,  has  said  that,  as  God 
allowed  His  only  Son  to  be  crucified,  that  His  scheme  of  redemption 
might  be  accomplished,  so  Germany,  God  with  her,  must  crucify 
humanity  in  order  that  its  ultimate  salvation  may  be  secured;  and 
the  Teutonic  nation  has  been  chosen  to  perform  this  task,  because 
Germany  alone  is  pure  and,  therefore,  a fitting  instrument  for  the 
Divine  Lland.  Satan,  who  has  returned  to  earth  in  the  shape  of  Eng- 
land, must  be  utterly  destroyed,  while  the  immoral  friends  and  allies  of 
Satan  are  called  to  share  his  fate.  Thus  evil  will  be  swept  off  the  earth 
and  the  German  Empire  henceforth  stand  supreme  protector  of  the  new 
kingdom  of  righteousness.  Pastor  Zoebel  has  ordered  no  compromise 
with  hell;  directed  his  flock  to  be  pleased  at  the  sufferings  of  the  enemy; 
and  bade  them  rejoice  when  thousands  of  the  non-elect  are  sent  to  the 
bottom  of  the  sea. 

Yes,  we  will  give  the  green  devil  his  robe  and  bands  until  Germany 
is  in  her  strait-jacket;  after  which  experience,  her  conceptions  of  a 
Supreme  Being  and  her  own  relation  thereto  may  become  modified. 

EDEN  PHILLPOTTS. 


96 


“Gorr  Mir  uns" 


97 


The  Widows  of  Belgium 

THIS  deeply  palhelic  picLure  evokes  the  memory  of  many  sad 
and  patienl  faces  whicli  we  have  seen  during  the  last  eighteen 
months.  It  is  the  women,  after  all  waves,  mothers,  sisters, 
and  daughters  wdio  have  the  heaviest  load  to  bear  in  war-time. 

The  courage  and  heroism  which  they  have  shown  are  an  honour  to 
human  nature.  The  world  is  richer  for  it;  and  the  sacrifices  which 
they  have  bravely  faced  and  nobly  borne  may  have  a greater  effect  in 
convincing  mankind  of  the  wickedness  and  folly  of  aggressive  militarism 
than  all  the  elociuence  of  jieace  advocates. 

\\’e  must  not  forget  that  the  war  has  made  about  six  German 
widow^s  for  every  one  in  our  country.  With  these  w'e  have  no  quarrel; 
we  know'  that  family  affection  is  strong  in  Germany,  and  we  are  sorry 
for  them.  They,  like  our  ow'ii  suffering  w'omen,  are  the  victims  of  a 
barbarous  ideal  of  national  glory,  and  a w'orse  than  barbarous  per- 
version of  patriotism,  wTich  in  our  opponents  has  become  a kind  of 
moral  insanity. 

These  pictures  wall  remain  long  after  the  war-passion  has  subsided. 
They  wall  do  their  part  in  preventing  a recrudescence  of  it.  Who  that 
has  ever  clamoured  for  wair  can  face  the  unspoken  reproach  in  these 
pitiful  eyes?  Who  can  think  unmoved  of  the  happy  romance  of  w'edded 
love,  so  early  and  so  sadly  terminated? 

THE  DEAN  OF  ST.  PAUL’S. 


98 


I HI-,  WIDOWS  OF  BFJ,GIUM 


99 


The  Harvest  Is  Ripe 

The  artist  spreads  before  you  a view  such  as  you  would  have  on 
the  great  wheat-growing  plains  of  Hungary,  or  on  the  level 
plateau  of  Asiatic  Turkey — the  vast,  unending,  monotonous,  un- 
divided held  of  corn.  In  the  background  the  view  is  interrupted  by 
two  villages  from  which  great  clouds  of  flame  and  smoke  are  rising — 
they  are  both  on  fire — and  as  you  look  closer  at  the  harvest  you  see 
that,  instead  of  wheat,  it  consists  of  endless  regiments  of  marching 
soldiers. 

“The  harvest  is  plentiful,  but  the  labourers  are  few”:  here  is  only 
one,  but  he  is  quite  sufTicient — “Ihe  reaper  whose  name  is  Death,” 
a skeleton  over  whose  bones  the  peasant’s  dress — a shirt  and  a pair  of 
ragged  trousers — hangs  loose.  The  shirt-sleeves  of  the  skeleton  are 
turned  well  up,  as  if  for  more  active  exertion,  as  he  grasps  the  two  holds 
of  the  huge  scythe  with  which  he  is  sweeping  down  the  harvest. 

This  is  not  war  of  the  old  type,  with  its  opportunities  for  chivalry, 
its  glories,  and  its  pride  of  manly  strength.  The  German  development 
of  war  has  made  it  into  a mere  exercise  in  killing,  a business  of  slaughter. 
Which  side  can  kill  most,  and  itself  outlast  the  other?  When  one 
reads  the  calculations  by  which  careful  statisticians  demonstrate  that 
in  the  first  seventeen  months  of  the  war  Germany  alone  lost  over  a 
million  of  men  killed  in  battle,  one  feels  that  this  cartoon  is  not  exag- 
gerated. It  is  the  liare  truth. 

The  ease  with  which  the  giant  figure  of  Death  mows  down  the 
harvest  of  tiny  men  corresponds,  in  fact,  to  the  million  of  German 
dead,  probably  as  many  among  the  Russians,  to  which  must  be  added 
the  losses  among  the  Austrians,  the  French,  the  British,  the  Belgians, 
Italians,  Serbs,  Turks,  and  Alontenegrins.  The  appalling  total  is  this 
vast  harvest  which  covers  the  plain. 

WILLIAM  MITCHELL  RAMSAY. 


100 


101 


^^Unmasked^’ 


The  “Yellow  Book,”  it  may  be  remembered,  was  the  official 
piiblicalion  of  some  of  the  details  of  atrocities  committed 
by  the  Hims  on  the  defenceless  women  and  children  of  rav- 
ished Belgium.  It  told  in  cold  and  imimpassioned  sentences,  in  plain 
and  simple  words  more  terrible  than  the  most  fervid  outpourings 
of  patriot  or  humanitarian,  the  tale  of  brutalities,  of  cold-blooded 
crimes,  of  murders  and  rape  and  mental  and  physical  tortures  beyond 
the  capabilities  or  the  imaginings  of  savages,  possible  only  in  their 
retinements  of  cruelty  to  the  civilized  apostles  of  Kullur.  There  are 
many  men  in  the  trenches  of  the  Allies  to-day  who  will  say  that  the 
German  soldier  is  a brave  man,  that  he  must  be  l)rave  to  advance  to 
the  slaughter  of  the  massed  attack,  to  hold  to  his  trenches  under  the 
horrible  j^imishment  of  heavy  artillery  lire. 


As  a nation  we  are  always  ready  to  admit  and  to  admire  physical 
courage,  and  if  Germany  had  fought  a “clean  tight,”  had  “played  the 
game,”  starkly  and  straightly,  against  our  lighting  men,  we  could — and 
our  fighting  men  especially  could,  and  I believe  would — have  helj)ed 
her  to  her  feet  and  shaken  hands  honestly  with  her  after  she  was  beaten. 
But  with  such  a brute  beast  as  the  unmasking  of  the  “Yellow  Book”  has 
revealed  Germany  to  be  we  can  never  feel  friendship,  admiration,  or 
respect. 

The  German  is  a “dirty  tighter,”  and  to  the  British  soldier  that 
alone  puts  him  beyond  the  pale.  He  has  outraged  all  the  rules  and 
the  instincts  of  chivalry.  His  bravery  in  l)attle  is  the  bravery  of  a 
ravening  wolf,  of  a blood-drunk  savage  animal.  It  is  only  left  to  the 
Allies  to  treat  him  as  such,  to  thrash  him  by  l)rute  force,  and  then  to 
clip  his  teeth  and  talons  and  by  treaty  and  agreement  amongst  them- 
selves to  keep  him  chained  and  caged  beyond  the  possibility  of  another 
outbreak. 

BOYD  CABLE. 


102 


UNMASKKI) 

The  Yellow  15ook 


103 


The  Great  Surprise 

IN  THE  note  to  another  picture  I have  remarked  on  the  farcical 
hypocrisy  of  the  German  Emperor  in  presenting  himself,  as  he 
so  often  does,  as  the  High  Priest  of  several  different  religions  at 
the  same  time.  They  are  nearly  all  of  them  religions  with  which  he 
would  have  no  sort  of  concern,  even  if  his  religious  pose  were  as  real 
as  it  is  artificial. 

Being  in  fact  the  ruler  and  representative  of  a country  which 
alone  among  European  countries  liuilds  with  complete  security  upon 
the  conviction  that  all  Christianity  is  dead,  he  can  only  be,  even 
in  theory,  the  prince  of  an  extreme  Protestant  State.  Long  before 
the  War  it  was  common  for  the  liest  caricaturists  of  Europe,  and 
even  of  Germany,  to  make  particular  fun  of  these  preposterous  tem- 
porary Papacies  in  which  the  Kaiser  parades  himself  as  if  for  a fancy- 
dress  ball;  and  in  the  accompanying  picture  Mr.  Raemaekers  has 
returned  more  or  less  to  this  old  pantomimic  line  of  satire. 

The  cartoon  recalls  some  of  those  more  good-humoured,  l)ut  per- 
haps equally  contemptuous,  sketches  in  which  the  draughtsmen  of  the 
French  comic  papers  used  to  take  a particular  delight;  which  made  a 
whole  comic  Bible  out  of  the  Kaiser’s  adventures  during  his  visit  to 
Palestine.  Here  he  appears  as  Moses,  and  the  Red  Sea  has  been  dried 
up  to  permit  the  passage  of  himself  and  his  people. 

It  would  certainly  be  very  satisfactory  for  German  world-politics 
if  the  sea  could  be  dried  up  everywhere;  but  it  is  unlikely  that  the 
incident  will  occur,  especially  in  that  neighbourhood.  It  will  be  long 
before  a German  army  is  as  safe  in  the  Suez  Canal  as  a German  Navy 
in  the  Kiel  Canal;  and  the  higher  critics  of  Germany  will  have  no 
difficulty  in  proving,  in  the  Kiel  Canal  at  all  events,  that  the  safety 
is  due  to  human  and  not  to  divine  wisdom. 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


104 


HIE  GREAT  SURI^RISE 

Moses  II  leads  his  chosen  oeople  through  the  Red  Sea  to  the  promised  (Eng)land. 


105 


Thou  Art  the  Man! 

The  Man  of  Sorrows  is  flogged,  and  thorn-crowned,  and  crucified, 
and  pierced  afresh,  by  this  other  man  of  sorrows,  who  has 
brought  greater  liitterness  and  woe  on  earth  than  any  other  of 
all  time.  And  in  his  soul — for  soul  he  must  have,  though  small  sign 
of  it  is  evidenced — he  knows  it.  Deceive  his  dupes  as  he  may — for  a 
time — his  own  soul  must  be  a very  hell  of  broken  hopes,  disappointed 
ambitions,  shattered  pride,  and  the  hideous  knowledge  of  the  holocaust 
of  human  life  he  has  deliberately  sacriliced  to  these  heathen  gods  of  his. 
No  ])oorest  man  on  earth  would  change  places  with  this  man-that- 
might-have-been,  for  his  time  draws  nigh  and  his  end  is  perdition. 

Let  That  Other  speak: 

“Their  souls  are  Mine. 

Their  lives  were  in  thy  hand; — 

Of  thee  I do  require  them! 

“The  fetor  of  thy  grim  burnt-offerings 
Comes  up  to  Me  in  clouds  of  bitterness. 

Thy  fell  undoings  crucify  afresh 

Thy  Lord — who  died  alike  for  these  and  thee. 

Thy  works  are  Death : — thy  spear  is  in  My  side, — 

O man!  0 man! — was  it  for  this  I died? 

Was  it  for  this? — 

A valiant  people  harried  to  the  void, — 

Their  fruitful  tields  a burnt-out  wilderness, — 

Their  prosperous  country  ravelled  into  waste, — 

Their  smiling  land  a vast  red  sepulchre, — 

— Thy  work! 


“Thou  art  the  man!  The  scales  were  in  thy  hand. 
For  this  vast  wrong  I hold  thy  soul  in  fee. 

Seek  not  a scapegoat  for  thy  righteous  due, 

Nor  hope  to  void  thy  countability. 

Until  thou  purge  thy  pride  and  turn  to  Me, — 

As  thou  hast  done,  so  be  it  unto  thee!” 


JOHN  OXENHAM. 


106 


IllOU  ART  THE  MAN 
‘AVe  wage  war  on  l^ivine  principles.” 


107 


Sympathy 

The  cartoon  requires  no  words  to  lell  the  story.  It  holds  chapter 
upon  chapter  of  tragedy.  “ I will  send  you  to  Germany  after 
your  father!”  Where  is  the  boy’s  father  in  Germany?  In  a 
prison?  Mending  roads?  Eying  maimed  and  broken  in  a rude  hos- 
pital? Digging  graves  for  comrades  about  to  be  shot?  Or,  more  likely 
still,  in  a rough  unknown  stranger’s  grave?  Was  the  father  dragged 
from  his  home  at  Louvain,  or  Tirlemont,  or  Vise,  or  one  of  the  dozen 
other  scenes  of  outrage  and  murder — a harmless,  hard-working  citizen — 
dragged  from  his  hiding-place  and  made  to  suffer  “exemplary  justice” 
for  having  “opposed  the  Kaiser’s  might,”  but  in  reality  because  he  was 
a Belgian,  for  whose  nasty  breed  there  must  be  demonstrations  of 
Germany’s  frightfulness  pour  encourager  les  autres? 

And  the  child’s  mother  and  sisters — what  of  them?  He  is  de- 
jected, but  not  broken.  There  is  dignity  in  the  boy’s  defiant  pose. 
The  scene  has,  perhaps,  been  enacted  hundreds  of  times  in  the  cities  of 
Belgium,  where  poignant  grief  has  come  to  a nation  which  dared  to  be 
itself. 

Follow  this  boy  through  life  and  observe  the  stamp  of  deep  resolve 
on  his  character.  Though  he  be  sent  “to  Germany  after  your  father,” 
though  he  be  for  a generation  under  the  German  jack-boot,  his  spirit 
will  sustain  him  against  the  conqueror  and  will  triumph  in  the  end. 

RALPH  D.  BLUMENFELD. 


108 


SYMPA'l'llY 

“If  1 find  you  again  looking  so  sad,  I'll  send  you  to  Germany  after  your  father. 


109 


The  Refugees 

The  wonder  is  not  that  women  went  mad,  but  that  there  are  left 
any  sane  eivilians  of  the  ravished  districts  of  Belgium  after 
all  those  infamies  perpetrated  under  orders  l)y  the  German 
troops  after  the  first  infuriating  check  of  Liege  and  before  the  final 
turning  of  the  German  line  at  the  liattle  of  the  Marne.  We  have 
supped  full  of  horrors  since,  and  by  an  insensible  process  grown  something 
callous.  But  we  never  came  near  to  realizing  the  Belgian  agony,  and 
Raemaekers  does  us  service  by  helping  to  make  us  see  it  mirrored  in 
the  eyes  of  this  poor  raving  girl.  This  indeed  is  a later  incident,  but 
will  serve  for  reminder  of  the  earlier  worse. 

It  is  really  nol  well  to  forget.  These  were  not  the  inevitable  hor- 
rors of  war,  but  a deliberately  calculated  effect.  There  seems  no  hope 
of  the  future  of  European  civilization  till  the  men  responsil)le  for  such 
things  are  brought  to  realize  that,  to  put  it  crudely  and  at  its  lowest, 
they  don’t  pay. 

What  the  attitude  of  Germany  now  is  may  be  guessed  from  the 
blank  refusal  even  of  her  bishops  to  sanction  the  investigation  which 
Cardinal  Mercier  asks  for.  It  is  still  the  gentle  wolf’s  theory  that  the 
truculent  lamb  was  entirely  to  blame. 

.lOSEPH  THORP. 


no 


1 


I I IK  REFUGEES  FROM  GIIEEI, 

Gheel  has  a model  asylum  for  the  insane.  On  the  fall  of  Antwerp  the  inmates  were 
conveyed  across  the  frontier.  The  cartoon  illustrates  an  incident  where  a woman,  while 
wheeling  a lunatic,  herself  developed  insanity  from  the  scenes  she  witnessed. 

Ill 


^^The  Junker^’ 


There  were  few  things  that  Junkerdom  feared  so  much  in 
modern  Germany  as  the  growth  and  effects  of  Socialism;  and 
it  is  certain  that  the  possible  attitude  of  the  German  Socialists 
— who  were  thought  by  some  writers  to  numbei  somewhere  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  two  million-  in  regard  to  the  War  at  its  outset  greatly 
exercised  the  minds  of  Junkerdom  and  the  Chancellor.  A few  days 
after  the  declaration  of  War  a well-known  English  Socialist  said  to  us, 
“I  believe  that  the  Socialists  will  be  strong  enough  greatly  to  handicap 
Germany  in  the  carrying  on  of  the  War,  and  possibly,  if  she  meets 
with  reverses  in  the  early  stages,  to  bring  about  Peace  before  Christ- 
mas.” 


That  was  in  August,  1914,  and  we  are  now  well  on  in  the  Spring  of 
1916.  We  reminded  the  speaker  that  on  a previous  occasion,  when 
Peace  still  hung  in  the  balance,  he  had  declared  with  equal  conviction 
that  there  would  be  no  War  because  “the  Socialists  are  now  too  strong 
in  Germany  not  to  exercise  a preponderating  restraining  influence.” 
He  has  proved  wrong  in  both  opinions.  And  one  can  well  imagine 
that  the  Junker  class  admires  Chancellor  von  Bethmann-Hollweg  for 
the  astute  manner  in  which  he  has  succeeded  in  shepherding  the  German 
Socialist  sheep  for  the  slaughter,  and  in  muzzling  their  representatives 
in  the  Reichstag. 

CLIVE  HOLLAND. 


112 


HIE  JUNKER 


“ What  I have  most  admired  in  you,  Bethmann,  is  that  you  have  made  Socialists  our 
best  supporters.” 


113 


Milieu  De  Fantomes  Tristes 
Et  Sans  Nombre’’ 

TIIKRE  is  something  daunting,  even  to  the  mind  of  one  not 
guilty  of  war  or  of  massacres,  in  the  thought  of  multitudes: 
the  multitude  of  the  dead,  of  the  living,  of  one  generation  of 
men  since  there  have  been  men  on  earth.  And  war  brings  this 
horror  to  us  daily,  or  rather  nightly,  because  such  great  companies  of 
men  have  suddenly  died  together,  passing  in  comradeship  and  com- 
munity from  the  known  to  the  unknown.  Yet  dare  we  say  “together?” 
The  unparalleled  solitariness  and  singleness  of  death  is  not  altered  by 
the  general  and  simultaneous  doom  of  battle. 

And  it  is  with  the  multitude,  and  all  the  ones  in  it,  that  the  maker 
of  war  is  in  unconscious  relation.  He  docs  not  know  their  names, 
he  does  not  know  them  by  any  kind  of  distinction,  he  knows  them  only 
by  thousands.  Yet  every  one  with  a separate  life  and  separate  death 
is  in  conscious  relation  with  him,  knows  him  for  the  tyrant  who  has 
taken  his  youth,  his  hope,  his  love,  his  fatherhood. 

What  a multitude  to  meet,  whether  in  thought,  in  conscience,  or  in 
another  world!  We  all,  no  doubt,  try  to  make  the  thought  of  massacre 
less  intolerable  to  our  minds  by  telling  ourselves  that  the  sufferers 
suffer  one  by  one,  to  each  his  own  share,  and  not  another’s;  that  though 
the  numbers  may  appeal,  they  do  not  make  each  man’s  part  more 
terrible.  But  this  is  not  much  comfort.  There  is  not,  it  is  true,  a 
sum  of  multiplication;  but  there  is  the  sum  of  addition.  And  that 
addition — the  multitude  man  by  man — the  War  Lord  has  to  reckon 
with:  Frederick  the  Great  with  his  men,  Napoleon  with  his,  the  Ger- 
man Emperor  with  his — each  one  of  the  innumerable  unknown  knowing 
his  destroyer. 


ALICE  MEYNELL. 


“ Mais  quand  la  voix  de  Dieu 
fantomes  tristes  et  sans  nombre.” 


I’appela  il  se  voyait  seiil  sur  la  terre  au  milieu  de 


115 


Bluebeard’s  Chamber 

The  Committee  of  Enquiry,  like  another  Portia,  clothed  in  the 
ermine-trimmed  robe  of  Justice  and  the  Law,  has  unlocked  with 
the  key  of  Truth  the  door  of  the  closed  chamber.  The  key  lies 
behind  her  inscril^ed  in  Dutch  with  the  name  that  tells  its  nature.  The 
Committee  then  pulls  back  the  curtain,  and  reveals  the  horrors  that  are 
behind  it.  Before  the  curtain  is  fully  drawn  back.  Enquiry  sinks 
almost  in  collapse  at  the  terrible  sight  that  is  disclosed.  There  hang 
to  pegs  on  the  wall  the  bodies  of  Bluebeard’s  victims,  a woman,  an  old 
man,  a priest,  two  l)oys,  and  a girl  still  half  hidden  behind  the  curtain. 
The  blood  that  has  trickled  from  them  coagulates  in  i)ools  on  the  ground. 


Bluebeard  himself  comes  suddenly:  he  hurries  down  the  steps 
brandishing  his  curved  sword,  a big,  burly  figure,  with  square,  thick 
beard,  and  streaming  whiskers,  wearing  a Prussian  helmet,  his  mouth 
open  to  utter  a roar  of  rage  and  fury.  The  hatred  and  scorn  with 
which  the  artist  inspires  his  pictures  of  Prussia  are  inexhaustible  in 
their  variety:  Prussia  is  l)arbarism  attempting  to  trample  on  law  and 
education,  brutality  beating  down  humanity,  a grim  figure,  the  in- 
carnation of  “frightfulness.”  I can  imagine  the  feelings  with  which 
all  Germans  must  regard  the  picture  that  the  Dutch  artist  always  gives 
of  their  country,  if  they  regard  Prussia  as  their  country.  “For  every 
cartoon  of  Raemackers,”  said  a German  newspaper,  “the  payment 
will  be  exacted  in  full,  when  the  reckoning  is  made  up.”  To  this  painter 
the  Prussian  ruling  power  is  incapable  of  understanding  what  nobility 
of  nature  means.  He  can  practise  on  and  take  advantage  of  the 
vices  and  weaknesses  of  his  enemies;  he  can  buy  the  services  of  many 
among  them,  and  have  all  the  worser  people  in  his  fee  as  his  servants 
and  agents;  but  he  is  always  foiled,  because  he  forgets  that  some  men 
cannot  be  bought,  and  that  these  men  will  steel  their  fellow-country- 
men’s minds  to  resist  tyranny  to  the  last.  The  mass  of  men  can  be 
led  either  to  evil  or  to  good. 


The  Prussian  military  system  assumes  the  former  as  certain,  and  is 
well  skilled  in  the  way.  But  there  is  the  latter  way,  too,  which  Prussia 
never  knew  and  never  takes  into  account  as  a possibility;  and  men  as 
a whole  prefer  the  way  to  good  before  the  way  to  evil,  when  both  are 
fully  explained  and  made  clear.  This  saves  men,  and  ruins  Prussia. 

WILLIAM  MITCHELL  RAMSAY. 


116 


BLUEBEARD’S  CHAMBER 

The  horrors  perpetrated  hy  the  Germans  were  brought  to  light  by  the  Belgian 
'Committee  of  Enquirv. 


117 


The  Raid 

The  seaman  of  history  is  a chivalrous  and  romantic  figure,  a 
gallant  and  relentless  tighter,  a generous  and  a tender  conqueror. 
In  Codrington’s  first  letter  to  his  wife  after  the  battle  of  Trafal- 
gar, he  tells  her  to  send  £100  to  one  of  the  French  captains  who  goes  to 
England  from  the  battle  as  a prisoner  of  war.  The  British  and  French 
navies  cherish  a hundred  memories  of  acts  like  these.  If  the  German 
navy  survives  the  war  what  memories  will  it  have?  It  must  search  the 
gaols  for  the  exemplars  in  peace  of  the  acts  that  win  them  the  Iron 
Cross  in  war. 

Note  in  this  drawing  that  the  types  selected  are  not  in  themselves 
liase  units  of  humanity.  They  have  been  made  so  by  the  beastly 
crimes  superior  orders  have  forced  them  to  commit.  But  even  this 
has  not  brought  them  so  low  but  they  wonder  at  the  topsy-turvydom 
of  war  that  brings  them  honour  where  poor  Black  Mary  only  got  her 
deserts  in  gaol. 

The  crimes  of  the  higher  command  have  passed  in  Germany  uncon- 
demned and  unbanned  by  cardinals  and  bishops.  But  the  conscience 
of  Germany  cannot  be  wholly  dead.  Nor  will  six  years  only  be  the 
term  of  Germany’s  humiliation  and  remorse.  The  spotless  white  of 
the  naval  uniform,  sullied  and  besmirched  by  those  savage  cruelties, 
cannot,  any  more  than  the  German  soul,  be  brought  back  “whiter 
than  snow”  by  any  bestowal  of  the  Iron  Cross.  The  effort  to  cleanse 
either  would  “the  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine.” 

ARTHUR  POLLEN. 


118 


THE  RAID 

“ Do  you  remember  lilack  Mary  of  I lamburg?  ” 

“ Aye,  well.” 

“She  got  six  years  for  killing  a child,  whilst  we  get  the  Iron  (Toss  for  killing 
twenty  at  Hartlepool.” 


119 


Better  a Living  Dog  Than  a Dead 


Here  is  the  grim  choice  of  alternatives  presented  to  other  nations 
by  the  creed  of  Deulschland  i'lber  Alles — the  cost  of  resistance 
and  the  reward  of  submission.  On  one  side  lies  the  man  who 
has  fought  a good  light  “for  Freedom.”  He  has  lost  his  life  but  won  an 
immortal  memory  inscribed  ui)on  the  cross.  The  other  has  saved  his 
life,  and  lo!  it  is  a “dog’s  life.”  He  is  not  even  a well-treated  dog. 
Harnessed,  muzzded,  chained,  he  crawls  abjectly  on  hands  and  knees 
and  drags  painfully  along  the  road,  not  only  the  cart,  but  his  heavy 
master  too. 

In  the  Netherlands  and  other  parts  of  the  Continent,  where 
dogs  are  used  to  pull  little  carts,  the  owner  generally  pulls  too;  it 
is  a partnership  in  which  the  dog  is  treated  as  a friend  and  visibly 
enjoys  doing  his  share.  Partnership  with  Germany  is  another  matter. 
The  dog  does  all  the  work,  the  German  takes  his  ease  with  his  great 
feet  planted  on  the  submissive  creature’s  back. 

The  belligerent  nations  have  made  their  choice.  Ciermany’s  part- 
ners have  chosen  submission  and  are  playing  the  dog’s  part,  as  they 
have  discovered.  The  Allies  on  the  other  side  are  paying  the  price  of  re- 
sistance in  the  sacrifice  of  life  for  Freedom.  And  what  of  the  neutrals? 
They  are  evading  the  choice  under  cover  of  the  Allies  and  waxing  fat 
meanwhile.  It  is  not  a very  heroic  attitude  and  will  exclude  them 
from  any  voice  in  the  settlement.  But  we  understand  their  position, 
and  at  least  they  are  ready  to  fight  for  their  own  freedom.  There  are, 
however,  individuals  who  are  not  ready  to  fight  at  all.  They  call 
themselves  conscientious  objectors,  prate  of  the  law  of  Christ,  and  pose 
as  idealists.  If  they  followed  Christ  they  would  sacrifice  their  lives 
for  others,  but  they  are  only  concerned  for  their  own  skins.  Their 
place  is  in  the  shafts.  The  true  idealist  lies  beneath  the  Cross. 


ARTHUR  SHAD  WELL. 


120 


BETTER  A LIVING  DOG  I HAN  A HEAi:)  I.ION 
The  Driver:  “ '^’ou  are  a worthy  Dutchman.  He  who  lies  there  was  a foolish 


idealist.” 


121 


^^The  Burden  of  the  Intolerable 


Most  people  have  wondered  from  time  to  time  what  the  Kaiser 
thinks  in  his  inmost  heart  and  in  the  solitude  of  his  own  cham- 
ber about  the  condition  of  (lermany  and  about  the  War. 
What  impression  has  been  made  on  him  by  the  alternation  of  victories 
and  failures  during  the  last  twenty  months?  After  all  he  has  staked 
everything — he  has  everything  to  lose.  What  does  he  feel?  What 
impression  do  the  frightful  losses  of  his  own  people  make  on  him? 

Raemaekers  tells  in  this  cartoon.  The  Kaiser  has  this  moment 
been  wakened  from  sleep  by  the  entrance  of  a big  gorgeously  dressed 
footman,  carrying  his  morning  tea.  The  panelling  of  the  royal  chamber 
in  the  palace  at  Potsdam  is  faintly  indicated.  The  Kaiser  sits  up  in 
bed,  and  a look  of  agony  gathers  on  his  face  as  he  realizes  that  he  has 
wakened  uj)  to  the  grim  horror  of  a new  day,  and  that  the  delightful 
time  which  he  has  just  been  living  through  was  only  a dream.  He  had 
dreamed  that  the  whole  thing  was  not  true — that  the  War  had  never 
really  occurred,  and  that  he  could  face  the  world  with  a conscience 
clear  from  guilt;  and  now  he  has  wakened  up  to  l)ear  the  burden  for 
another  day.  It  is  written  in  his  face  what  he  thinks.  A ou  see  the  deep 
down-drawn  lines  in  the  lower  part  of  the  face,  the  furrows  upon  the  fore- 
head, and  the  look  almost  of  terror  in  the  eyes.  But  a smug-faced 
llunkey  offers  him  a cup  of  tea  with  buttered  toast,  and  he  must  come 
back  to  the  i:>retence  of  that  tragi-comedy,  the  life  of  the  King-Emperor. 

The  Dutch  artist  is  fully  alive  to  the  comic  element  which  underlies 
that  tragedy.  The  King-Emperor,  as  he  awakes  from  sleep  and  sits  for- 
ward from  that  mountain  of  pillows,  would  be  a purely  comic  figure  were 
it  not  for  the  terrilile  tragedy  written  in  his  face.  A footman  in  brilliant 
livery  is  a comic  ligure.  The  splendour  of  this  livery  brings  out  the 
comic  element  by  its  contrast  to,  and  yet  its  harmony  with,  the  stupid 
self-satisfaction  of  the  countenance  and  the  curls  of  the  powdered  hair. 

The  Kaiser,  however,  awakens  to  more  than  the  pretences  and 
shams  of  court  life.  The  vast  dreams  which  he  cherished  before  the 
War  of  world-conciuest  and  an  invincible  Germany  are  fled  now,  and  he 
must  face,  open-eyed  and  awake,  the  stern  reality. 


WILLIAM  MITCHELL  RAMSAY. 


122 


I MF.  AWAKENING 

“ 1 had  such  a dcdightful  dream  that  the  whole  thing  was  not  true.” 


Eagle  in  Hen-run 

The  Dutchman  who  could  see  this  cartoon  and  not  admit  its 
simple  truth  would  have  to  he  a very  blind  pro-German.  At 
present  time  it  pays  Germany  to  pretend  a friendship  for  Hol- 
land, hut  the  premeditated  murder  of  Belgium  is  a plain  object-lesson  of 
the  sort  of  friendship  and  agreement  that  Germany  makes  with  a coun- 
try and  people  which  stand  in  her  way  and  are  too  small  to  withstand 
her  brute  force.  Gan  any  Dutchman  doubt  what  would  be  Holland’s 
fate  if  Germany  emerged  even  moderately  victorious  from  this  war? 
The  German  War  Staff  would  give  a good  deal  to  have  the  control  of 
Holland  and  a free  passage  to  the  sea  from  Antwerp.  They  refrain 
from  using  force  to  gain  that  control  only  because  they  cannot  afford 
to  have  a fresh  frontier  to  guard  and  because  it  is  quite  useful  to  have 
Holland  neutral  and  a forbidden  ground  and  water  to  the  Armies  and 
Navies  of  the  Allies,  a shield  over  the  heart  of  Berlin  and  Germany. 
It  would  ])ay  the  Germans  to  have  Holland  with  them  and  openly 
against  the  Allies,  and  they  would  no  doubt  gladly  make  an  “agree- 
ment” to  that  effect;  but  there  is  little  likelihood  of  that  as  long  as  the 
Dutch  can  visualize  the  “agreement”  as  clearly  as  the  cartoonist  has 
done  here. 

There  are  many  people  who  for  years  past  have  suspected  Ger- 
many’s sinister  designs  on  the  whole  of  the  Netherlands.  The  brutal 
ravaging  of  Belgium,  the  talk  that  already  runs,  openly  or  in  whispers, 
in  Germany  of  “annexation  of  conquered  territories”  and  “extended 
borders,”  tell  plainly  the  same  tale — that  any  agreement  between  a 
small  country  and  Germany  means  merely  the  swallowing-up  of  the 
small  nation,  the  “agreement”  of  a meal  with  the  swallower-up. 


BOYD  CABLE. 


THE  EAGLE  IN  HIE  HEN-RUN 

German  Eagle  ; “Come  along,  Dutch  chicken,  we  will  easily  arrange  an  agreement.” 
The  Chicken  : “ Yes,  in  your  stomach.” 


125 


The  Future 

There  can  be  no  doubting  of  the  future.  The  Allied  forces, 
who  in  Raemaekers’  drawing  stand  for  Liberty,  are  assuredly 
destined  to  wring  the  neck  of  the  Prussian  eagle,  which  typifies 
the  tyranny  of  brute  force. 

“Eor  freedom’s  battle,  once  begun  . . . 

Though  ballled  oft,  is  ever  won.” 

“There  is  only  one  master  in  this  country,”  the  Kaiser  has  said  of 
Germany.  “I  am  he,  and  I will  not  tolerate  another.”  He  has  also 
told  his  people:  “There  is  only  one  law  my  law;  the  law  which  I 

myself  lay  down.”  It  is  supererogatory  to  dispute  either  of  these  im- 
perial ])i'onouncements.  The  Euture  contents  herself  with  the  com- 
ment: “Out  of  thine  own  mouth  will  I judge  thee.” 

The  Kaiser  and  his  counsellors  have  now  translated  words  into 
deeds,  and  every  instrument  of  savagery  has  been  since  August,  1911, 
enlisted  by  Tyranny  in  the  attempt  to  overthrow  Liberty.  “A  thou- 
sand years  ago,”  the  Kaiser  once  declared  to  his  Army,  “ the  Huns  under 
their  king  Attila  made  themselves  a name  which  still  lives  in  tradition.” 
The  Future  replies  to  him  that  he  and  his  fighting  hordes  will  also  live 
in  tradition.  They  will  be  remembered  for  their  defiance  of  the  con- 
science of  the  world,  which  obeys  no  call  but  that  of  Liberty. 


SIDNEY  LEE. 


I. ’AVENIR 


127 


Christ  or  Odin? 

YOU  cannot  well  conceive  a science,  whether  it  be  mathematics,  or  architecture, 
or  philosophy,  wilhoiil  its  axioms,  dogmas,  or  first  principles.  Without  them 
there  is  no  basis  on  which  to  raise  the  superstructure.  So  it  is  with  the 
science  of  religion.  Take  Christianity:  if  it  is  to  be  taught  scientifically,  it  must 
start  with  the  most  tremendous  dogma,  the  Divinity  of  Christ.  Either  Christ  was 
or  He  was  not  what  He  claimed  to  be.  If  He  was  not,  you  must  shout  with  the 
Sanhedrim:  “Crucify  Him!”  If  He  was,  you  must  sing  with  the  Church:  “Come, 
adore  Him.”  One  thing  is  certain,  you  cannot  be  indifferent  to  His  claim  or  to  Him; 
you  must  either  hate  Him  and  His  creed,  like  the  Prussian  warring  Superman,  or 
love  Him  and  it,  like  bhigland's  Crusading  Kings. 

The  cartoon  before  us  is  the  finished  picture  which  I can  trace  from  its  first  rough 
sketch  in  the  hands  of  Kant,  through  its  different  stages  of  development  in  the  schools 
of  Hegel,  of  Schopenhauer,  of  Strauss,  till  it  was  ready  for  its  final  touches  in  the 
hands  of  Nietzsche.  In  fancy  I see  it  hung,  on  the  line,  in  the  Prussian  picture- 
gallery  under  the  direction  of  War  Lords,  whose  boasted  aim  it  is  that  the  world  shall 
be  governed  only  by  Prussian  Kultur  and  Prussian  Religion. 

The  fatal  mistake  made  by  the  Teutonic  race  in  the  past  was,  we  are  told,  the 
adoption  of  Roman  culture  and  Roman  religion.  Germany  once  sulimitted  to  an  alien 
God  and  to  an  alien  creed.  She,  the  mistress  of  the  earth,  the  mightiest  of  the  mighty, 
and  the  most  Kultured  of  the  Kultured,  had  actually  once  worshipped  “an  uncultured 
peasant  Galilean,”  and  made  profession  of  “His  slave  morality.” 

Now  they  had  altogether  done  with  Christ,  the  Nazarene.  The  shout  had 
gone  forth:  “We  will  not  have  this  Man  to  rule  over  us.”  In  the  future  no  gods 
but  Thor  and  Odin  shall  rule  the  “world-dominating  race.”  Prussia  seemed  to 
think  the  world’s  need  to-day  was  the  religion  not  of  Virtue,  but  of  Valour.  “In 
a day  now  long  fled  was  heard  the  cry:  ‘Blessed  are  the  meek,  for  they  shall  inherit 

the  earth,’  but  to-day  there  shall  go  forth  the  word:  ‘Blessed  are  the  valiant,  for 
they  shall  make  the  earth  their  throne.’  In  the  past  ye  heard  it  said:  ‘Blessed 

are  the  poor  in  spirit,’  but  now  I say  to  you:  ‘Blessed  are  the  great  in  soul,  for 
they  shall  enter  into  Valhalla.’  Again,  in  the  dark  ages. it  was  said  to  you:  ‘Blessed 

are  the  peacemakers,’  but  now  in  the  blaze  of  day  I say  unto  you:  ‘Blessed  are  the 
war-makers,  for  they  shall  be  called,  if  not  the  children  of  .lahve,  the  children  of 
Odin,  who  is  greater  than  Jahve.’  ” For  those  who  want  more  of  this  mad  jargon 
on  the  same  lines  let  me  refer  them  to  the  late  Professor  Cramb’s  book  on  Germany 
and  England. 

With  this  cartoon  Ijefore  me,  I am  driven  to  fear  that  when  the  war  is  done 
there  will  rise  up  in  Germany  a louder  and  stronger  cry  against  the  Christianity 
of  Christ  than  ever  was  attempted  after  the  Franco-Prussian  War.  The  “man  of 
blood  and  iron,”  the  man  with  the  mailed  fist  and  the  iron  heel,  I much  apprehend, 
will  not  be  satisfied  with  tearing  down  the  emblem  of  the  physical  Body  of  Christ, 
Init  to  slake  his  liloodthirsty  spirit  he  will  want  to  go  on  to  belal)our  His  Alystical 
Body  no  less.  God  avert  it! 

BERNARD  VAUGHAN. 


128 


“I  crush  whatever  resists  me.” 


129 


Ferdinand 

IN  THIS  war,  where  the  ranks  of  the  enemy  present  to  us  so  many 
formidable,  sinister,  and  shocking  figures,  there  is  one,  and  per- 
haps but  one,  which  is  purely  ridiculous.  If  we  had  the  heart  to 
relieve  our  strained  feelings  by  laughter,  it  would  be  at  the  gross  Coburg 
traitor,  with  his  bodyguard  of  assassins  and  his  hidden  coat-of-mail, 
his  shaking  hands  and  his  painted  face.  The  world  has  never  seen  a 
meaner  scoundrel,  and  we  may  almost  bring  ourselves  to  pity  the 
Kaiser,  whom  circumstances  have  forced  to  accept  on  equal  terms  a 
potentate  so  verminous. 

But  we  no  longer  smile,  we  are  tempted  rather  to  weep,  when 
we  think  of  the  nation  over  whom  this  Ferdinand  exercises  his  disas- 
trous authority.  Forty  years  will  have  expired  this  spring  since  the 
Christian  peasants  of  Bulgaria  rose  in  arms  against  the  Turkish  op- 
pressor. After  a year  of  wild  mountain  fighting,  Russia,  with  fraternal 
devotion,  came  to  their  help,  and  at  San  Stefano  in  March,  1877,  the 
aspirations  of  Bulgaria  were  satisfied  under  Russia  auspices.  Ten  years 
later  Ferdinand  the  usur])cr  descended  upon  Sofia,  shielded  by  the 
protection  of  Austria,  and  since  then,  under  his  poisonous  rule,  the 
honour  and  spirit  of  the  once  passionate  and  romantic  Bulgarian  nation 
have  faded  like  a plant  in  poison-fumes. 

Raemaekers  presents  the  odious  Ferdinand  to  us  in  the  act  of 
starting  for  the  wars — he  who  faints  at  the  sight  of  a drawn  sword. 
Ilis  hired  assassins  guard  him  from  his  own  people  and  from  the 
revenge  of  the  thousands  whom  he  has  injured.  But  will  they  always 
be  able  to  secure  so  vile  a life  against  the  vengeance  of  history?  How 
soon  will  Fate  condescend  to  crush  this  painted  creature? 

EDMUND  GOSSE. 


130 


Ferdinand  s’en  va  ten  guerre  ne  sait  s'il  reviendra.  (Old  French  song  adapted.) 


131 


Juggernaut 


Yes,  Kultur,  the  German  Juggernaut,  has  passed  this  way. 
There  is  no  mistaking  the  foul  track  of  his  chariot-wheels. 
Kultur  is  the  (icrman  God.  But  there  is  a greater  God  still. 
He  sees  it  all.  He  speaks, — 


‘'Was  il  for  I his  I died?  - 

— Black  clouds  of  smoke  that  veil  the  sight  of  heaven; 
Black  piles  of  stones  which  yesterday  were  homes; 

And  raw  black  heaps  which  once  were  villages; 

Fair  towns  in  ashes,  spoiled  to  suage  thy  spleen; 

My  temples  desecrate,  My  priests  out-cast: — 

Black  ruin  everywhere,  and  red, — a land 

All  swamj)ed  with  blood,  and  savaged  raw  and  l)are; 

All  sickened  with  the  reck  and  stench  of  war. 

And  thing  a prey  to  pestilence  and  want; 

- Thy  work! 


“For  Ihis? — 

— Life’s  fair  white  flower  of  manhood  in  the  dust; 

Ten  thousand  thousand  hearts  made  desolate; 

My  troubled  world  a seething  pit  of  hate; 

My  helpless  ones  the  victims  of  thy  lust; — 

The  broken  maids  lift  hopeless  eyes  to  Me, 

The  little  ones  lift  handless  arms  to  Me, 

The  tortured  women  lift  white  lips  to  Me, 

The  eyes  of  murdered  white-haired  sires  and  dames 
Stare  up  at  Me.  And  the  sad  anguished  eyes 
Of  My  dumb  beasts  in  agony. 

— Thy  work!” 

JOHN  OXENHAM. 


132 


KULTUR  HAS  RASSHD  HKRF 


133 


Michael  and  the  Marks 

The  Loan:  good  for  100  marks!”  Look  at  him!  He  is  the 

favoured  of  the  Earth,  lives  in  Germany,  where  Kultur  is  peer- 
less, and  education  complete  (even  tho’  the  man  may  become  a 
martyr  of  method).  War  comes!  and  he  is  seen,  as  an  almond  tree  in 
blossom  his  years  tell,  when  lo!  a War  Loan  is  raised  with  real  Helf- 
ferichian  candour,  and  Michael  has  just  stepped  out  of  the  Darlehns- 
kasse,  at  Oberwesel-on-the-Rhine,  or  other  seat  of  Kultur  and  War  Loan 
linance.  Are  visions  about?  said  an  American  humorist  now  gone  to 
the  Shades;  and  Michael,  Loan  note  in  hand,  eyes  reversed,  after  a visit 
to  two  or  three  ollices,  wants  to  know,  and  wonders  whether  this  note 
can  be  regarded  as  “hab  und  gut,”  and  if  so,  good  for  how  much? 
Is  it  a wonder  that  an  artist  in  a Neutral  Country  should  depict  Ger- 
man affairs  as  in  this  condition,  and  business  done  in  this  manner? 
Michael  is  puzzled;  and  in  the  language  of  the  Old  Kent  Road,  “ ’e 
dunno  where  ’e  are!”  He  is  puzzled,  and  not  without  cause. 

All  who  have  followed  Germany’s  linancing  of  the  War  share 
Michael’s  perplexity.  Brag  is  a good  dog:  but  it  does  not  do  as  a 

foundation  for  credit.  Gold  at  Spandau  was  trumpeted  for  years  as  a 
“war  chest”;  but  when  the  “best  laid  schemes  o’  mice  and  men  gang 
aft  agley,”  especially  when  a war  does  not  end,  as  it  should,  after  a jolly 
march  to  Paris  in  six  weeks,  through  a violated  and  plundered  Belgium, 
then  comes  the  rub — and  the  paper  which  puzzles  Michael.  A German, 
possibly  Dr.  Ilelfferich,  the  German  Finance  Minister,  may  believe, 
and  some  do  believe,  that  it  does  not  matter  how  much  “paper,”  in 
currency  notes,  a State,  or  even  a Bank,  may  issue.  The  more  experi- 
enced commercial  and  banking  concerns  of  the  world  insist  upon  a 
visible  material,  as  well  as  the  personal  security,  to  which  the  German 
is  prone.  The  round-about  method  of  issuing  German  War  Loans  un- 
questionably puzzles  Michael;  but  v*all  not  impose  on  the  v/orld  outside- 

Let  it  be  marked  also,  that  Cicrman  credit  methods  have  been, 
in  part,  the  proximate  cause  of  this  War;  a system  of  credit-trading 
may  last  for  some  years  only  to  threaten  disaster  and  general  ruin. 
Now,  it  is  “neck  or  nothing”;  Michael  goes  the  round  of  the  Loan 
offices,  and  behold  him!  Germany  herself  fears  a crash  in  credit, 
and  even  the  Gierman  Alichael  feels  that  it  is  impending.  Already 
the  mark  exchanges  over  30  below  par. 

W.  M.  J.  WILLIAMS. 


134 


LOAN  JUGGLLin’ 

Michael;  “For  my  loo  marks  I obtained  a receipt.  1 gave  this  for  a second  loo  marks 
and  I received  a second  receipt.  For  the  third  loan  I gave  the  second  receipt.  Have  I 
invested  300  marks  and  has  the  Government  got  300,  or  have  both  of  us  got  nothing?  ” 

135 


Their  Beresina 


S IT  still  a long  way  to  the  Beresina?'" 

The  whole  civilized  world  sincerely  hopes  not. 


Death,  with  the  grin  on  his  fleshless  face,  is  hurrying  them  along 
to  it  as  fast  as  his  troika  can  go.  Three  black  horses  abreast  he  drives — 
Dishonour,  Disappointment,  and  Disgrace — and  the  more  audacious 
of  the  carrion-crows  fly  croaking  ominously  alongside. 


Little  Willie,  with  the  insignia  of  his  family’s  doom  on  his  head,  is 
not  happy  in  his  mind.  “Father’s”  plans  have  not  worked  smoothly, 
his  promises  have  not  been  fulfilled.  Little  Willie  is  concerned  for  his 
own  future.  He  is  the  only  soul  in  the  world  who  is. 

When  the  First — the  real — Napoleon  entered  Russia,  on  June  24, 
1812,  he  led  an  army  of  414,000  men  -the  grande  armee.  When  the 
great  retreat  began  from  burnt-out  Moscow  he  had  less  than  100,000. 
By  the  time  the  Beresina  was  reached  but  little  of  the  grand  army  was 
left.  “Of  the  cavalry  reserve,  formerly  32,000  men,  only  100  answered 
the  muster-roll.”  The  passage  of  the  river,  which  was  to  interpose 
its  barrier  between  him  and  the  pursuing  Russians,  was  an  inferno  of 
panic,  selfishness,  and  utter  demoralization.  Finally,  to  secure  his 
own  safety,  Napoleon  had  the  bridges  burnt  before  half  his  men  had 
crossed.  44ie  roll-call  that  night  totalled  8,000  gaunt  spectres,  hardly 
to  be  called  men. 


"Father,  is  it  still  a long  wag  to  the  Beresina?"" 

We  may  surely  and  rightly  put  up  that  question  as  a prayer  to  the 
God  whom  Kaiser  William  claims  as  friend,  but  whom  he  has  flouted 
and  l)ruised  as  never  mortal  man  since  time  began  has  bruised  and 
llouted  friend  before. 


"Is  it  still  a long  wag  lo  the  Beresina?" 

God  grant  them  a short  quick  course,  an  end  forever  to  militarism, 
to  the  wastage  it  has  entailed,  and  to  all  those  evils  which  have  made 
such  things  possible  in  this  year  of  grace  1916. 

JOHN  OXENHAM. 


136 


137 


mim 


New  Peace  Offers 

The  present  policy  of  Germany  is  a cnrions  mixture  of  underhand 
diplomacy  and  boastful  threats.  If  she  desires  to  impress  the 
neutral  States,  she  vaunts  the  great  conquests  that  she  has 
been  able  to  accomplish.  She  points  out,  especially  to  Roumania  and 
to  Greece,  how  terrible  is  her  vengeance  on  States  which  defy  her,  such 
as  Belgium  and  Serl3ia,  while  vague  promises  are  given  to  her  Near- 
b^astern  Allies — Bulgaria  and  Turkey — that  they  will  have  large  ad- 
ditions to  their  territory  as  a reward  for  compliance  with  the  dictates 
of  Berlin. 

But,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  very  clear  that,  as  part  and  parcel  of 
this  vigorous  offensive,  Germany  is  already  in  more  c[uarters  than  one 
suggesting  that  she  is  quite  open  to  offers  of  peace.  As  every  one 
knows.  Von  Biilow  in  Switzerland  is  the  head  and  controlling  agent  of  a 
great  movement  in  the  direction  of  peace;  while  lately  we  have  heard  of 
offers  made  to  Belgium  that  if  she  will  acknowledge  a commercial 
dependence  on  the  Central  bmipires  her  territory  will  be  restored  to 
her.  Similar  movements  arc  going  on  in  America,  because  throughout 
Germany  still  seeks  to  pose  as  a nation  which  was  attacked  and  had 
to  defend  herself,  and  is  therefore  quite  ready  to  listen  if  any  reasonable 
offers  come  from  her  enemies  to  luring  the  war  to  a close. 

The  unhappy  German  Imperial  Chancellor  has  to  play  his  part  in 
this  sorry  comedy  with  such  skill  as  he  can  manage.  To  his  German 
countrymen  he  has  to  proclaim  that  the  war  has  been  one  brilliant  prog- 
ress from  the  start  to  the  present  time.  This  must  be  done  in  order 
to  allay  the  ai)prehensions  of  Berlin  and  to  propitiate  the  ever-increas- 
ing demand  for  more  plentiful  supplies  of  food.  Secretly  he  has  to 
work  c[uite  as  hard  to  secure  for  the  Central  Empires  such  a conclusion 
of  hostilities  as  will  leave  them  masters  of  Europe.  And,  without 
doubt,  he  has  to  put  up  with  a good  many  indignities  in  the  process. 
“The  worst  of  it  is,  I must  always  deny  having  been  there.”  Kicked 
out  by  the  Allies,  he  has  to  pretend  that  no  advances  were  ever  made. 
Perhaps,  however,  such  a task  is  not  uncongenial  to  the  man  who  began 
by  asserting  that  solemnly  ratified  treaties  were  only  “scraps  of  paper.” 

W.  L.  COURTNEY. 


138 


NEW  PEACE  OEEERS 

\'oN  Bkthmann-Hollwfg:  “The  worst  of  it  is,  1 must  always  deny  having  been  there.” 


139 


The  Shields  of  Rosselaere 

The  climax  of  meanness  and  selfishness  would  seem  to  be  reached 
when  an  armed  man  shelters  himself  behind  the  unarmed;  yet 
it  is  not  the  climax,  for  here  the  artist  depicts  a body  of  German 
troops  sheltering  themselves  behind  women,  calculating  that  the  Bel- 
gians will  not  lire  on  their  own  countrywomen  and  unarmed  friends,  and 
that  so  the  attack  may  safely  gain  an  advantage. 

There  is  a studied  contrast  between  the  calm,  orderly  march  of  the 
troops  with  shouldered  arms  and  the  huddled,  disorderly  progress  to 
which  the  townspeople  are  compelled.  These  are  not  marching:  they 
are  going  to  their  death.  Several  of  the  women  have  their  hands  raised 
in  frantic  anguish,  their  eyes  are  like  the  eyes  of  insanity,  and  one  at 
least  has  her  mouth  open  to  emit  a shriek  of  terror.  Two  of  the  men 
are  in  even  worse  condition;  they  are  collapsing,  one  forward,  one 
backward,  with  outstretched  hands  as  if  grasping  at  help.  The  rest 
march  on,  courageously  or  stolidly.  Some  seem  hardly  to  understand, 
some  understand  and  accept  their  fate  with  calm  resignation. 

One  old  woman  walks  (juietly  with  bowed  head  submissive.  In 
the  front  walks  a priest,  his  hand  raised  in  the  gesture  of  blessing  his 
Hock.  The  heroism  of  the  Catholic  priesthood  both  in  France  and  in 
Belgium  forms  one  of  the  most  honouralde  features  of  the  Great  War, 
and  stands  in  striking  contrast  with  the  calculating  diplomatic  policy 
of  the  Papacy.  There  is  always  the  same  tendency  in  the  “chief 
priests”  of  every  race  and  period  to  be  tempted  to  sacrifice  moral 
considerations  to  exi)ediency,  and  to  prefer  the  empty  fabric  of  an 
imposing  Church  establishment  to  the  people  who  make  the  Church. 
But  the  clergy  of  Belgium  are  there  to  prove  what  the  Church  can  do 
for  mankind.  This  cartoon  would  be  incomplete  and  would  deserve 
condemnation  as  inartistic  if  it  were  not  redeemed  by  the  priest  and 
the  old  woman. 

WILLIAM  MITCHELL  RAMSAY. 


140 


HIE  SHIELDS  OE  KOSSEEAERE 

At  Rosselaere  th(‘  German  troops  Ejrced  the  Belgian  townsfolk  to  march  in  front 
of  them. 


141 


The  Obstinacy  of  Nicholas 

The  veneral)le  quip  that  what  is  lirmness  in  ourselves  is  obstinacy 
in  our  opponents  is  illustrated  with  a ludicrous  explicitness  in 
the  whole  tenor  of  German  olhcial  utterance  since  the  failure 
of  the  great  drives.  The  obtuseness  of  the  Allies  is  so  abysmal  (it  is 
again  and  again  complained  in  the  Reichstag  and  through  Wolff) 
that  they  are  unable  to  see  that  Germany  is  the  permanently  triumph- 
ant victor.  Whereas  for  Germany,  whose  cause  even  the  neutrals 
judge  to  be  lost,  to  hold  out  at  the  cost  of  untold  blood  and  treasure 
is  merely  the  manifestation  of  heaven-conferred  German  steadfast- 
ness. The  Army  into  whose  obstinate  corporate  head  it  is  hardest  to 
drive  the  idea  of  German  military  all-powerfulness  is  the  Russian,  of 
which  retreating  units,  actually  armed  with  staves  against  a superbly 
equipped  (but  innocent  and  wantonly  attacked)  foe,  were  so  stupid  as 
to  forget  how  to  be  broken  and  demoralized. 

And  this  long,  imperturbable,  verdamte  Nicholas,  who  was  declared 
on  the  highest  German  authority  (and  what  higher?)  to  be  annihilated 
twice,  having  turned  a smashing  tactical  defeat  into  strategical  victory, 
bobs  up  serenely  in  another  and  most  inconvenient  place.  Absurd; 
particularly  when  “what  I tell  you  three  times  is  true.”  . . . 

Neonapoleon  didn’t  remember  Moscow.  But  he  will. 

JOSEPH  THORP. 


142 


“Why,  I’ve  killed  you  twice,  and  you  dare  to  come  back  again.” 


143 


The  Order  of  Merit 


URKEY  had  no  illusions  from  the  beginning  on  the  subject  of 


the  war.  If  the  choice  had  been  left  to  the  nation  she  would  not 


have  become  Germany's  catsj)aw.  Unfortunately  for  Turkey, 
she  has  had  no  choice.  For  years  ui)on  years  the  Sultan  Abdul  Hamid 
was  Turkey.  Opposition  to  his  will  meant  death  for  his  opponent. 
Thus  Turkey  became  inarticulate.  Her  voice  was  struck  dumb.  The 
revolution  was  looked  upon  hopefully  as  the  dawn  of  a new  era.  Abdul 
Hamid  was  dethroned;  his  brother,  a puppet,  was  exalted,  anointed, 
and  enthroned.  Power  passed  from  the  Crown,  not,  as  exi)ected,  to 
the  people  and  its  representatives,  but  into  the  hands  of  a youthful 
adventurer,  in  German  pay,  who  has  led  his  country  from  one  folly  to 


Turkey  did  not  want  to  light,  but  she  had  no  choice,  and  so 
she  was  dragged  in  by  the  heels.  She  has  lost  much  besides  her  in- 
dependence. The  crafty  German  has  drained  her  of  supi)lies  while 
giving  naught  in  return.  The  German’s  policy  is  to  strive  throughout 
for  a weak  Turkey.  The  weaker  Turkey  can  be  made,  the  better  will  it 
be  for  Germany,  which  hopes  still,  no  matter  what  may  happen  else- 
where, so  to  manipulate  things  as  to  dominate  the  Ottoman  Empire 
after  the  war. 

d'urkey  is  still  a rich  country,  in  spite  of  her  enormous  sacri- 
fices in  the  past  decade.  She  has  been  exploited  from  end  to  end 
by  the  German  adventurer,  who  will  continue  the  process  of  bleeding 
so  long  as  there  is  safety  in  the  method;  but  Turkey  is  beginning  to 
ask  herself,  as  does  the  figure  of  the  fat  Pasha  in  the  cartoon:  “And  is 
this  all  the  compensation  I get?”  An  Iron  Cross  does  not  pay  for  the 
loss  of  half  a million  good  soldiers.  Yet  that  is  the  exact  measure  of 
ITirkey’s  reward. 


another. 


RALPH  D.  BLUMENFELD. 


144 


THE  ORDER  OE  MERl  l' 
Turkey:  “And  is  this  all  the  compensation  1 


1 15 


get?  ” 


The  Marshes  of  Pinsk 

IN  WHAT  are  we  mosl  like  our  kinsmen  Lhe  Germans,  and  in  what 
most  unlike?  I was  convicted  of  TeuLonism  when  first,  in  Ger- 
many, I ate  “brod  und  butter,”  and  found  the  words  pronounced 
in  an  English  way,  slurred.  But  if  we  are  like  the  Germans  in  the  names 
of  simple  and  childish  things,  we  grow  more  unlike  them,  we  draw 
farther  apart  from  them,  as  we  grow  up.  We  love  war  less  and  less, 
as  they  love  it  more.  We  love  our  word  of  honour  more  and  more  as 
they,  for  the  love  of  war,  love  their  word  less. 

There  is  no  nation  in  the  world  more  unlike  us;  because  there  is  no 
war  so  perfect,  so  conscious,  so  complete  as  the  German.  And  being 
thus  all-predominant,  German  war  is  the  greatest  of  outrages  on  life 
and  death.  We  English  have  a singular  degree  of  respect  for  the 
dead.  It  has  no  doubt  expressed  itself  in  some  slight  follies  and 
vulgarities,  such  as  certain  funeral  customs,  not  long  gone  by;  but 
such  respect  is  a national  virtue  and  emotion.  No  nation  loving 
war  harbours  that  virtue.  And  in  nothing  do  the  kinsmen  with 
whom  we  have  much  language  in  common  differ  from  us  more  than 
in  the  policy  that  brought  this  Prussian  host  to  cumber  the  stagnant 
waters  of  the  Marshes  of  Pinsk. 

The  love  of  war  has  cast  them  there,  displayed,  profaned,  in  the 
“cold  obstruction”  of  their  dissolution.  Corruption  is  not  sensible 
corruption  when  it  is  a secret  in  earth  where  no  eye,  no  hand,  no  breath- 
ing can  be  aware  of  it.  There  is  no  offence  in  the  grave.  But  the  lover 
of  war,  the  Power  that  loved  war  so  much  as  to  break  its  oath  for  the 
love  of  war,  and  for  the  love  of  war  to  strike  aside  the  hand  of  the 
peace-maker.  Arbitration,  that  Power  has  chosen  thus  to  expose  and 
to  betray  the  multitude  of  the  dead. 

ALICE  MEYNELL. 


146 


IIIH  MARSHES  OF  PINSK,  NOVEMBER,  1915. 

The  Kaiser  said  last  spring;  "When  the  leaves  fall  you'll  have  peace.”  They  have! 


147 


God  With  Us 

Three  apaches  sit  crouched  in  shelter  waiting  the  moment  to 
strike.  One  is  old  and  gaga,  his  ancient  lingers  splayed  on  the 
ground  to  support  him  and  his  face  puckered  with  the  petulance 
of  age.  One  is  a soft  shapeless  ligure — clearly  with  small  heart  for  the 
business,  for  he  squats  there  as  limp  as  a sack.  One  is  the  true  stage 
conspirator  with  a long  pendulous  nose  and  narrow  eyes.  Ills  knife 
is  in  his  teeth,  and  he  would  clearly  like  to  keep  it  there,  for  he  has 
no  stomach  for  a light.  He  will  only  strike  if  he  can  get  in  a secret 
blow.  The  leader  of  the  gang  has  the  furtive  air  of  the  criminal, 
his  chin  sunk  on  his  breast,  and  his  caj)  slouched  over  his  brows.  His 
right  hand  holds  a stiletto,  his  pockets  bulge  with  weapons  or  plunder, 
his  left  hand  is  raised  with  the  air  of  a priest  encouraging  his  Hock. 
And  his  words  are  the  words  of  religion  -“God  with  us.”  At  the  sign 
the  motley  crew  will  get  to  work. 

It  is  wholesome  to  strip  the  wrappings  from  grandiose  things. 
Public  crimes  are  no  less  crimes  l)ecause  they  are  committed  to  the 
sound  of  trumpets,  and  the  chicanery  of  crowned  intriguers  is  morally 
the  same  as  the  tricks  of  hedge  bandits.  It  is  privilege  of  genius  to  get 
down  to  fundamentals.  Behind  the  stately  speech  of  international 
j)Ourpaiiers  and  the  rhetoric  of  national  a])pcals  burn  the  old  lust  and 
greed  and  rapine.  A stab  in  the  dark  is  still  a stab  in  the  dark  though 
courts  and  councils  are  the  miscreants.  A war  of  aggression  is  not  less 
brigandage  because  llie  armies  march  to  proud  songs  and  summon 
the  Almighty  to  their  aid. 

Raemaekers  has  done  much  to  clear  the  eyes  of  humanity.  The 
monarch  of  Felix  Austria,  with  the  mantle  of  the  Holy  Roman  Empire 
still  dragging  from  his  shoulders,  is  no  more  than  a puzzled,  broken 
old  man,  crowded  in  this  bad  business  beside  the  Grand  Turk,  against 
whom  his  fathers  defended  Europe.  The  preposterous  Ferdinand, 
shorn  of  his  bombast,  is  only  a chicken-hearted  assassin.  The  leader 
of  the  band,  the  All  Highest  himself,  when  stripped  of  his  white  cloak 
and  silver  helmet,  shows  the  slouch  and  the  furtive  ferocity  of  the  street- 
corner  bravo.  And  the  cry  “Cjod  with  us,”  which  once  rallied  Cru- 
sades, has  become  on  such  lips  the  signal  of  the  apache. 

JOHN  BUCHAN. 


148 


I 


ciol)  WITH  us 

“At  the  command  ‘Gott  mit  Lins’  you  will  go  for  them.” 


140 


Ferdinand  the  Chameleon 

There  is  one  whole  field  of  the  evil  international  influence  of 
Germany  in  which  Ferdinand  of  Bulgaria  is  a much  more  im- 
portant and  symbolic  person  than  William  of  Prussia.  He  is, 
of  course,  a cynical  cosmopolitan.  He  is  in  great  part  a Jew,  and  an 
advanced  type  of  that  maiwais  juif  who  is  the  principal  obstacle  to  all 
the  attempts  of  the  more  genuine  and  honest  Jews  to  erect  a rational 
status  for  their  people. 

Like  almost  every  man  of  this  type,  he  is  a Jingo  without  being 
a patriot.  That  is  to  say,  he  is  of  the  type  that  believes  in  big  arma- 
ments and  in  a diplomacy  even  more  brutal  than  armaments;  but  the 
militarism  and  diplomacy  are  not  humanized  either  by  the  ancient 
national  sanctities  which  surround  the  Czar  of  Russia,  or  the  spontane- 
ous national  popularity  which  established  the  King  of  Serbia.  He  is 
not  national,  but  international;  and  even  in  his  peaceful  activities 
has  been  not  so  much  a neutral  as  a spy. 

In  the  accompanying  cartoon  the  Dutch  caricaturist  has  thrust 
with  his  pencil  at  the  central  point  of  this  falsity.  It  is  something 
which  is  probably  the  central  point  of  everything  everywhere,  but  is 
especially  the  central  point  of  everything  connected  with  the  deep 
quarrels  of  Eastern  Europe.  It  is  religion.  Russian  Orthodoxy  is 
an  enormously  genuine  thing;  Austrian  Romanism  is  a genuine  thing; 
Islam  is  a genuine  thing;  Israel,  for  that  matter,  is  also  a genuine  thing. 

But  Ferdinand  of  Bulgaria  is  not  a genuine  thing;  and  he  represents 
the  whole  part  played  by  Prussia  in  these  ancient  disputes.  That 
part  is  the  very  reverse  of  genuine;  it  is  a piece  of  ludicrous  and  trans- 
parent humbug.  If  Prussia  had  any  religion,  it  would  be  a northern 
perversion  of  Protestantism  utterly  distant  from  and  indifferent  to 
the  controversies  of  Slavonic  Catholics.  But  Prussia  has  no  religion. 
For  her  there  is  no  God;  and  Ferdinand  is  his  prophet. 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


150 


FFKDINAN’n  I I II-  CIIAMFFFON 

■'I  was  a Catholic,  but,  needing  Russian  help,  I became  a ('.reek  Orthodox.  Now 
I need  the  Austrians,  I again  become  Catholic.  Should  things  turn  out  badlv,  1 can 
again  revert  to  C.reek  Orthodoxy.” 


151 


The  Latin  Sisters 

The  Latin  Sisters!  Note  carefully  the  expression  of  France  as 
contrasted  with  that  of  Italy.  France,  violated  by  the  Hun, 
exhibits  grim  determination  made  sacrosanct  by  suffering. 
Italy’s  face  glows  with  enthusiasm.  One  can  conceive  of  the  one  fight- 
ing on  to  avenge  her  martyrs,  steadfast  to  the  inevitable  end  when  Right 
triumphs  over  Might.  One  can  conceive  of  the  other  drawing  her 
sword  because  of  the  blood  tie  which  links  them  together  in  a bond  that 
craft  and  specious  lies  have  tried  in  vain  to  sunder.  What  do  they 
stand  for,  these  two  noble  sisters?  Everything  which  can  be  included 
in  the  word — ART.  hAx'rything  which  has  built  up,  stone  upon  stone, 
the  stately  temple  of  Civilization,  everything  which  has  served  to 
humanize  mankind  and  to  differentiate  him  from  the  beasts  of  Prussia. 

Looking  at  these  two  sisters,  one  wonders  that  there  are  still  to  be 
found  in  England  mothers  who  allow  their  children  to  be  taught  Ger- 
man. One  hazards  the  conjecture  that  it  might  well  be  imparted  to 
exceptionally  wicked  children,  if  there  be  any,  because  none  can  ques- 
tion that  the  Teutonic  tongue  will  be  spoken  almost  exclusively  in  the 
nethermost  deej)s  of  Hades  until,  and  probal)ly  after,  the  Day  of 
Judgment. 

For  my  sins  I studied  German  in  Germany,  and  I rejoice  to  think 
that  I have  forgotten  nearly  every  word  of  that  raucous  and  obscene 
language.  Had  I a child  to  educate,  and  the  choice  between  German 
and  Choctaw  were  forced  upon  me,  I shonld  not  select  German.  French, 
Italian,  and  Spanish,  cognate  tongues,  easy  to  learn,  delightful  to  speak, 
hold  out  sweet  allurements  to  English  children.  Do  not  these  suffice? 
If  any  mother  who  happens  to  read  these  lines  is  considering  the  pro- 
priety of  teaching  German  to  a daughter,  let  her  weigh  well  the  re- 
sponsibility which  she  is  deliberately  assuming.  To  master  any  foreign 
language,  it  is  necessary  to  talk  much  and  often  with  the  natives.  Do 
Englishwomen  wish  to  talk  with  any  Huns  after  this  war?  What  will 
be  the  feeling  of  an  English  mother  whose  daughter  marries  a Hun 
any  time  within  the  next  twenty  years?  And  such  a mother  will 
know  that  she  planted  the  seed  which  ripened  into  catastrophe  when 
she  permitted  her  child  to  acc[uire  the  language  of  our  detestable  and 
detested  enemies. 


HORACE  ANNESLEY  VACHELL. 


HIE  LATIN  SISTERS 
1 ialy:  “Indeed  she  is  my  sister.’’ 


153 


Misunderstood 

IT  NEED  not  necessarily  l)e  supposed  that  the  directors  of  German 
destiny,  who  are  not  devoid  of  intelligence,  took  the  ravings  of 
Bernhardi  over-seriously.  He  had  his  special  uses  no  doubt  before 
the  day.  But  on  the  morrow  of  the  day,  when  questions  of  responsi- 
bility came  to  be  raised,  he  became  one  of  many  inconvenient  witnesses; 
and  there  has  scarcely  been  a better  joke  among  the  grim  humours  of 
this  catastrophe  than  the  mission  of  this  Redhot-Gospeller  of  the  New 
Unchivalry  of  War  to  explain  to  “those  idiotic  Yankees”  that  he  was 
really  an  ardent  pacitist.  The  most  just,  the  most  brilliant,  the  most 
bitter  pamphlet  of  invective  could  surely  not  say  so  much  as  this 
recking  cleaver,  those  bloody  hands,  that  fatuous  leer  and  gesture,  this 
rigid  victim.  Bernhardism  was  not  a mere  windy  theory.  It  was 
exactly  practised  on  the  Belgian  people. 

And  this  spare,  dignified  ligure  of  Uncle  Sam,  contemptuously  in- 
credulous, is,  I make  bold  to  say,  a more  representative  symbol  of  the 
American  people  than  one  which  our  impatience  sometimes  tempts 
us  now  to  draw.  Most  Americans  now  regret,  as  Pope  Benedict  must 
regret,  that  the  first  most  cruel  rape  of  Belgium  was  allowed  to  pass 
without  formal  protest  in  the  name  of  civilization.  But  that  occasion 
gone,  none  other,  not  the  Lusitania  even,  showed  so  clear  an  oppor- 
tunity. A people’s  sentiments  are  not  necessarily  expressed  by  the 
action  of  its  Government,  which  moves  always  in  fetters.  Nor  has 
President  Wilson’s  task  been  as  simple  as  his  critics  on  this  or  the  other 
side  of  the  Atlantic  profess  to  believe. 

JOSEPH  THORP. 


154 


MISUNOERSIOOI) 


Bhrnhardi:  “Indeed  I am  the  most  humane  fellow  in  the  worU  ’’ 


155 


Prosperity  Reigns  in  Flanders 

WHEREVER  Prussia  rules  she  has  only  one  method  of  ruling — 
that  of  terror.  \Vherever  she  finds  civilization  and  the  wealth 
which  civilization  creates,  she  can  do  nothing  but  despoil. 
She  is  as  incapable  of  persuasion  as  of  creation.  No  people  forced  to 
endure  her  rule  have  ever  been  won  to  prefer  it  as  the  Alsatians  came  to 
prefer  the  rule  of  France  or  as  many  Indians  have  come  to  prefer  the  rule 
of  England.  In  Belgium  she  has  been  especially  herself  in  this  respect. 

A wise  policy  would  have  dictated  such  a careful  respect  for  private 
rights  and  such  a deference  to  native  traditions  as  might  conceivably 
have  weakened  the  determination  of  the  Belgians  to  resist  to  the  death 
those  who  had  violated  Iheir  national  independence.  But  Prussia  is 
incapable  of  such  a policy.  In  any  terrilory  which  she  occupies,  whe- 
ther temporarily  or  permanently,  her  only  method  is  terror  and  her  only 
aim  loot.  She  did  indeed  send  some  of  her  tame  Socialists  to  Brussels 
to  embark  on  the  hopeless  enterprise  of  persuading  the  Belgian  Socialists 
that  honour  and  patriotism  were  ideologies  bourgeoises  and  that  the 
“economic  interests”  of  Belgium  would  be  best  promoted  by  a sub- 
mission. These  pedantic  barbarians  got  the  answer  which  they  de- 
served; l)ut  on  their  pettifogging  thesis  Raemaekers'  cartoon  is  perhaps 
the  best  commentary. 

The  “prosperity”  of  Belgium  under  Prussian  rule  has  consisted  in 
the  systematic  looting,  in  violation  of  international  law,  of  the  wealth 
accumulated  by  the  free  citizens  of  Belgium,  for  the  advantage  of  their 
Prussian  rulers;  while  to  the  mass  of  the  people  it  has  brought  and, 
until  it  is  forever  destroyed,  can  bring  nothing  but  that  slavery  which 
the  Prussians  have  themselves  accepted  and  which  they  would  now 
impose  upon  the  whole  civilization  of  Europe. 

CECIL  CHESTERTOR 


156 


PROSI^ERITV  REIGNS  IN  FLANDERS 


Four  hundred  and  eighty  millions  of  francs  have  been  imposed  as  a war  tax,  but 
soup  is  given  gratis. 


157 


The  Last  Hohenzollern 


EHIND  him  stands  the  embodiment  of  all  that  Prussian  kultur 


and  efficiency  mean,  wooden  uninventiveness,  clockwork  ac- 


curacy of  movement — without  soul  or  inspiration.  He  himself 
is  thin  and  scraggy — Raemaekers  has  intensified  these  characteristics, 
but  even  so  the  caricature  of  the  reality  is  more  accurate  than  unkind. 
Many  months  ago,  this  vacuous  heir  of  the  house  of  Hohenzollern  set 
to  work  on  the  task  of  overcoming  France,  and  the  result.  . . . 

may  be  found  in  bundles  of  four,  going  back  to  the  incinerators  beyond 
Aix,  in  the  piled  corpses  before  the  French  positions  at  and  about 
Verdun;  some  of  the  results,  the  swag  of  the  decadent  burglar,  went 
back  in  sacks  from  the  chateaux  that  this  despicable  thing  polluted 
and  robbed  as  might  any  Sikes  from  Portland  or  Pentonville. 

He  is  the  embodiment,  himself,  of  the  last  phase  of  Prussian  kultur. 
Somewhere  back  in  the  history  of  Prussia  its  rulers  had  to  invent  and 
to  create,  and  then  kultur  brought  forth  hard  men;  later,  it  became 
possible  to  coj)y,  and  then  kultur  brought  forth  mechanical  perfection 
rather  than  creative  perfection,  systematized  its  theories  of  life  and 
work,  and  brought  into  being  a class  of  men  just  a little  meaner,  more 
rigid,  more  automaton-like,  than  the  original  class;  having  reduced 
life  to  one  system,  and  that  without  soul  or  ideal,  kultur  brought  forth 
types  lacking  more  and  more  in  originality.  Here  stands  the  culmi- 
nating type;  he  will  copy  the  good  German  Gott — he  is  incapable  of 
originating  anything — and  will  “do  the  same  to  France.” 

As  far  as  lies  in  his  power,  he  has  done  it;  in  the  day  of  reckoning, 
Germany  will  judge  how  he  has  done  it,  and  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
(iermany  will  give  him  his  just  reward,  for  no  punishment  could  be  more 
fitting.  The  rest  of  the  world  already  knows  his  vacuity,  his  utter 
uselessness,  his  criminal  decadence.  As  his  father  was  stripped  of  the 
Garter,  so  is  he  here  shown  stripped  of  the  attributes  to  which,  in 
earlier  days,  he  made  false  claim.  There  remains  a foolish  knave 
posturing — and  that  is  the  real  Crown  Prince  of  Germany. 


F.  CHARLFS  \T\TAN. 


158 


1 • '-;  '.'  - - ' r-fr 

GOTT  STRAFE  ENGLAND! 

"Father  says  1 have  to  do  the  same  with  France.” 


1 59 


Piracy 


IN  THE  summer  of  1914  Germany  stood  before  the  world,  a nation 
of  immense,  and  to  a great  extent  of  most  honourable,  achievement. 
Her  military  greatness  had  never  l)een  in  dispute.  But  in  the 
previous  twenty  years  she  had  developed  an  internal  industry  and  an 
external  commerce  on  a scale  and  with  a rapidity  entirely  unprecedented. 
She  had  to  l)uild  a navy  sueh  as  no  nation  had  ever  constructed  in  so 
short  a time.  She  seemed  destined  to  progress  in  the  immediate  future 
as  she  had  progressed  in  the  immediate  past. 


What  has  the  madness  for  world  conquest  done  for  her  now?  She 
has  made  enemies  of  all,  and  made  all  her  enemies  suffer.  Like  the 
strong  l)lind  man  of  history,  she  has  seized  the  columns  of  civilization 
and  brought  the  whole  temple  down.  But  has  she  not  destroyed  her- 
self utterly  amid  the  ruins?  Her  industry  is  j)aralyzed,  her  commerce 
gone.  Her  navy  is  dishonoured.  Some  force  she  still  possesses  at 
sea,  but  it  is  force  to  be  expended  on  sea  piracy  alone.  And  it  is  not 
piracy  that  can  save  her.  At  most,  in  her  extremity,  it  will  do  for  her 
what  a life  belt  does  for  a lone  figure  in  a deserted  ocean.  It  prolongs 
the  agony  that  precedes  inevitable  extinction.  It  is  the  throw  of  the 
desperate  gambler  that  Germany  has  made,  when  she  flings  this  last 
vestige  of  her  honour  into  the  sea. 

ARTHUR  POLLEN 


160 


TlRPirZ’S  LAST  HOPE— PIRACY 


161 


''Weeping,  She  Hath  Wept” 

WHILE  a world  of  mourners  is  plaintively  asking,  “What  has 
become  of  our  brave  dead,  where  are  they?  Alas!  how  dark 
is  the  world  without  them,  how  silent  the  home,  how  sad  the 
heart”;  whilst  the  mourner  is  groping  like  the  blind  woman  for  her  lost 
treasure,  the  Belgian  mother,  and  the  Belgian  widow,  and  the  Belgian 
orphan  are  on  their  knees,  praying,  “Eternal  rest  give  to  them,  0 Lord; 
let  a perpetual  light  shine  upon  them,”  the  Christian  plea  that  has 
echoed  down  the  ages  from  the  day  of  the  Maccabees  till  now,  exhort- 
ing us  to  pray  for  the  dead  that  they  may  be  loosed  from  their  sins. 

I would  remind  the  broken-hearted  mother  beseeching  me  to  tell 
her  where  can  her  brave  boy  be  gone,  adding,  “His  was  such  a lonely 
journey;  did  he  find  his  way  to  God?”  of  the  words  of  the  poet,  who 
linds  his  answer  to  her  (juestion  in  the  flight  of  a sea  bird  sailing  sun- 
ward from  the  winter  snows: 

There  is  a Power  whose  care 

d'eaches  thy  way  along  the  pathless  coast, 

The  desert  and  illimitable  air. 

Lone,  wandering  but  not  lost: 

He  who  from  zone  to  zone 

Guides,  through  the  boundless  sky,  thy  certain  flight. 

In  the  lone  way  which  thou  must  tread  alone 
Will  lead  thy  steps  aright. 

The  l)rave  soldier,  who  in  the  discharge  of  high  duty  has  been 
suddenly  shot  into  eternity  by  the  fire  of  the  enemy,  will  surely,  far  more 
easily  than  the  migrating  bird,  wing  his  flight  to  God,  Who,  let  us  pray, 
will  not  long  withhold  him  the  hapj)y-making  vision  of  hleaven.  Pil- 
grims homeward-bound,  as  you  readily  understand,  at  different  stages 
of  their  journey  will  picture  Heaven  to  themselves  differently,  accord- 
ing as  light  or  darkness,  joy  or  sorrow  encompass  them.  Some  will 
picture  Heaven  as  the  Ifiverlasting  Holiday  after  the  drudgery  of  school 
life,  others  as  Eternal  Happiness  after  a life  of  suffering  and  sorrow, 
others  again  as  Home  after  exile,  and  some  others  as  never-ending 
Rapture  in  the  sight  of  God. 

But  to-day,  when  “frightfulness”  is  the  creed  of  the  enemy,  and 
warfare  with  atrocities  is  his  gospel,  very  many  amongst  us,  weary 
with  the  long-drawn  battle,  sick  with  its  ever-recurring  horrors,  and 
lu'oken  by  its  ghastly  revelations,  will  lift  up  their  eyes  to  a land  beyond 
the  stars. 

EATHER  BERNARD  VAUGHAN. 


162 


IIIF  WIDOWS  OF  BEFGIUW 


63 


Military  Necessity 


IT  MAY  be  asserted  that  the  plea  of  “Frightfulness”  will  not  be 
recognized  a “military  necessity”  when  Germany  is  judged,  and 
that  this  enemy  of  civilization,  even  as  the  enemy  of  society,  will 
be  held  responsil)le  for  its  crimes,  though  they  stand  as  far  above  the 
imagination  as  beyond  the  power  of  a common  felon.  Bill  Sikes  may 
justly  claim  “military  necessity”  for  his  thefts  and  murders,  if  Ger- 
many can  do  so  for  hers. 

Under  Art’cle  No.  46  of  the  Regulations  of  The  Flague,  we  learn 
that  “Family  honour  and  rights,  individual  life  and  private  property 
must  be  respected,”  and,  under  Article  No  47,  “all  pillage  is  expressly 
forbidden.”  But  while  it  was  a political  necessity  to  subscribe  to  that 
fundamental  formula  of  civilization,  Cicrmany’s  heart  recognized  no 
real  need  to  do  so,  and  secretly,  in  cold  blood,  at  the  inspiration  of  her 
educated  and  well-l)orn  rulers,  she  plotted  the  details  of  a campaign 
of  murder,  rape,  arson,  and  pillage,  which  demanded  the  breaking  of 
her  oath  as  its  preliminary.  Well  might  her  Chancellor  laugh  at  “the 
scrap  of  paper,”  which  stood  between  Germany  and  Belgium,  when  he 
reflected  on  the  long  list  of  sacred  assurances  his  perjured  country  had 
already  planned  to  break. 

No  viler  series  of  events,  in  Northern  France  alone,  can  be  cited 
than  those  extracted  from  the  note-books  of  captured  and  fallen 
(iermans.  Such  blood-stained  pages  must  be  a tithe  of  those  that 
returned  to  Germany,  but  they  furnish  a full  story  of  what  the  rank 
and  file  accom])lished  at  the  instigation  and  example  of  their  officers. 
Space  precludes  riuotation;  but  one  may  refer  the  reader  to  “Ger- 
many’s Violations  of  the  Laws  of  War,”*  published  under  the  auspices 
of  the  French  Foreign  Office.  It  is  a book  that  should  be  on  the  tables 
at  the  Peace  Conference. 


We  cannot  hang  an  army  for  these  unspeakable  offences,  or  treat 
those  who  burn  a village  of  living  beings  as  we  would  treat  one  who 
made  a l)onfire  of  his  fellow-man;  nor  can  we  condemn  to  penal  servitude 
a whole  nation  for  bestial  outrages  on  humanity,  ordered  by  its  I4igher 
Command  and  executed  by  its  troops;  but  at  least  we  may  hope  soon 
to  find  the  offending  Empire  under  police  supervision  of  Europe,  with  a 
ticket-of-leave,  whose  conditions  shall  be  as  strict  as  an  outraged 
earth  knows  how  to  draw  them. 

EDEN  PIIILEPOTTS. 

*English  translation.  Heincmann. 


164 


ON  1 ICKET-OF-LHAVE 

Ojnvict:  “The  next  time  Ell  wear  a German  helmet  and  plead  ‘mihtar\-  necessitw' 


1 65 


Liberte!  Liherte,  Cherie! 

THERI^^  have  been  many  surprises  in  this  war.  The  evil  sur- 
prises, patiently,  scienlilically,  diabolically  matured  in  the  dark 
for  the  upsetting  and  downcasling  of  a too-trusting  world  by 
the  enemy  of  mankind,  whose  “Teuton-faith”  will  surely  forever  out- 
rival that  “Punic-faith”  which  has  hitherto  been  the  by-word  for 
perfidious  treachery.  The  heartening  surprises  of  gallant  little  Belgium 
and  Serbia;  the  renascence  of  Russia;  the  wonderful  upleap  to  the  needs 
of  the  times  by  Great,  and  still  more  by  Greater  Britain;  and,  not  least, 
the  bracing  of  the  loins  of  our  closest  Allies  just  across  the  water. 

In  the  very  beginning,  when  the  Huns  tore  up  that  scrap  of  paper 
which  represented  their  honour  and  their  right  to  a place  among  decent 
dwellers  on  the  earth,  and  came  sweeping  like  a dirty  flood  over  Belgium 
and  Northern  France,  the  ovei'iiowering  remembrance  of  1870  still  lay 
heavy  on  our  sorely-tried  neighbours.  They  had  not  yet  quite  found 
themselves.  The  Huns  had  a mighty  reputation  for  invincibility. 
It  seemed  imj)ossible  to  stand  against  them.  There  were  waverings, 
even  crumplings,  d'here  were  said  to  be  treacheries  in  high  places. 

ddie  black  Hood  swept  on.  ^h)n  Kluck  was  heading  for  Paris,  and 
seemed  likely  to  get  there.  Then  suddenly,  miraculously  as  it  seemed, 
his  course  was  diverted.  He  was  tossed  aside  and  Hung  back. 

And  it  is  good  to  recall  the  reason  he  himself  is  said  to  have  given 
for  his  failure. 

“At  Mons  the  British  taught  the  French  how  to  die.” 

'khat  is  a great  saying  and  worthy  of  preservation  for  all  time. 
Whether  Von  Klnck  said  it  or  not  does  not  matter.  It  represents  and 
immortalizes  a mighty  fact. 

France  was  bending  under  the  terrible  impact.  Britain  stood  and 
died.  France  braced  her  loins  and  they  have  been  splendidly  braced 
ever  since. 

The  Huns  were  found  to  be  resistible,  vulnerable,  breakable.  The 
old  verve  and  elan  came  back  with  all  the  old  lire,  and  along  with 
these,  new  depths  of  grim  courage  and  tenacity,  and,  we  are  told,  of 
spirituality,  which  may  be  the  making  of  a new  France  greater  than  the 
world  has  ever  known. 

And  that  we  shall  welcome.  France,  Belgium,  Serbia,  Russia  have 
suffered  in  ways  we  but  faintly  comprehend  on  this  side  of  the  water. 
When  the  (freat  Settling  Day  comes,  this  new  higher  spirit  of  France 
will,  it  is  to  be  devoutly  hoped,  make  for  restraint  in  the  universal 
craving  for  vengeance,  and  prove  a weighty  factor  in  the  righteous 
re-adjustment  of  things  and  the  proper  fitting  together  of  the  jig-saw 
map  of  Europe. 

.JOHN  OXFNHAM. 


166 


I IBHRTE!  I.IBERTE,  CHERIE! 


167 


I — Knavish  Piece  of  Work'^ 

There  can  be  no  defence  of  the  spirit  of  hatred  in  which  the 
Germans  have,  so  fatally  for  their  future,  carried  on  this  amaz- 
ing mad  war  of  theirs,  in  violation  of  all  human  instincts  of 
self-respect  and  self-preservation,  to  say  nothing  of  the  obligations  of 
religion  and  morality  observed  among  mankind  from  the  first  dawnings 
of  civilization.  The  knavery,  the  villainy,  and  the  besotted  bestiality 
of  it  can  never  be  forgotten,  and  must  never  be  forgiven,  and  Louis 
Raemaekers,  gifted  as  he  is  with  the  rare  dramatic  genius  that  dis- 
criminates his  Cartoons,  has  but  discharged  an  obvious  patriotic  duty 
in  publishing  them  to  the  world  at  large,  as  true  and  faithful  witnesses 
to  the  unspeakable  and  inexpiable  abominations  wrought  throughout 
Belgium  and  French  Flanders  by  the  Germans — which,  already,  in  the 
course  of  Divine  retribution,  have  involved  their  own  country  in  mate- 
rial losses  it  will  take  from  three  to  four  generations  to  repair;  and  their 
once  honoured  name  in  contempt,  and  reprobation,  and  infamy,  where- 
from it  can  never  be  redeemed. 

Nevertheless,  as  an  Englishman,  I shrink  from  giving  any  emphasis 
there  may  be  in  my  “hand  and  signature”  to  these  righteously  con- 
demnatory and  withering  cartoons;  and  because,  each  one  of  them, 
as  I turn  to  it,  brings  more  and  more  crushingly  home  to  me  the  tran- 
scending sin  of  England — of  every  individual  Englishman  with  a vote 
for  Members  of  Parliament — in  not  having  prepared  for  this  war;  a sin 
that  has  implicated  us  in  the  destruction  of  the  whole  rising  generation 
of  the  llower  of  our  manhood;  and,  before  this  date,  would  have  brought 
us  under  subjection  to  Germany  but  for  the  confidence  placed  by  the 
rank  and  file  of  the  British  people  and  nation  in  Lord  Kitchener  of 
Khartum. 

Now — face  to  face  with  enemies — from  the  Kaiser  downward  to  his 
humblest  subjects — animated  by  the  highest,  noblest  ideals,  but  again 
lierverted  for  a time — as  in  the  case  of  their  ancestors  in  the  Middle 
Ages — by  a secular  epidemic  of  “Panmania,”  they  are  to  be  faced  not 
with  idle  reproaches  and  revilings,  still  less  with  undignified  taunts 
and  gibes,  but  with  close-drawn  lips  and  clenched  teeth,  in  the  deter- 
mination that,  once  having  cast  Satan  out  of  them,  he  shall  be  bound 
down  to  keep  the  ])eace  of  Christendom — “for  a thousand  years.” 

GEORGE  BIRDWOOD. 


168 


-3 — i>ou(s.T~< 


xcic-nxif'ks'rx 


u 


WE’LL  GIVE  ^'OU  I IIL  I'l  ILL  OL  MI’KI-'  F OL  POLAND 


1 he  new  Governor  has  had  the  title  of  Mpret  given  to  him,  the  same  that  was  given 
to  the  ill-starred  Prince  of  Wied  when  made  rnler  of  Albania  in  1Q14. 


1 69 


II — ^^Sisyphus, — His  Stone” 

Sisyphus,  as  the  story  goes,  was  a King  who  widely  extended 
the  eommerce,  and  largely  increased  the  wealth,  of  Corinth,  but 
by  avaricious  and  fraudful  ways;  for  the  sin  whereof  he  was 
sentenced  after  death  to  the  unresting  labour  of  rolling  up  a hill  in 
Tartarus,  a huge  unhewn  block  of  stone,  which  so  soon  as  he  gets  it  to 
the  hill  top,  for  all  his  efforts,  rolls  down  again.  In  classical  representa- 
tion of  the  scene  he  is  associated  with  Tantalus  and  Ixion;  Tantalus, 
who,  presuming  too  much  on  his  relations  with  Zeus,  was  after  death 
alllicted  with  an  unciuenchable  thirst  amidst  flowing  fountains  and  pel- 
lucid lakes — like  the  lakes  of  “The  Thirst  of  the  Antelope”  in  the 
marvellous  mirages  of  Rajputana  and  Mesopotamia — that  ever  elude 
his  anguished  approaches;  and  with  Ixion,  the  meanest  and  basest  of 
cheats,  and  most  demoniac  of  murderers,  whose  posthumous  punishment 
was  in  being  stretched,  and  broken,  and  bound,  in  the  figure  of  the 
svastika,  on  a wheel  which,  self-moved — like  the  wheels  of  the  vision  of 
Ezekiel — whirls  forevermore  round  and  round  the  abyss  of  the  nether 
world.  The  moral  of  these  tortures  is  that  we  may  well  and  most 
wisely  leave  vengeance  to  “the  high  Gods.”  They  will  repay! 

GEORGE  BIRDWOOD. 


170 


^IS'iPIIUS 


171 


Concrete  Foundations 

Nothing  has  damned  the  Germans  more  in  the  eyes  of  other 
nations,  belligerent  and  neutral  alike,  and  nothing  will  have  a 
more  subtle  and  lasting  intluence  on  future  relations,  than  the 
revelation  of  stealthy  preparation  for  conquest' under  a mask  of  in- 
nocent and  friendly  intercourse.  The  whole  process  of  “peaceful 
penetration,”  pursued  in  a thousand  ways  with  infernal  ingenuity  and 
relentless  determination,  is  an  exhibition  of  systematic  treachery  such 
as  all  the  Macehiavellis  have  never  conceived.  Germany  has  revealed 
herself  as  a nation  of  spies  and  assassins.  d\)  take  advantage  of  a neigh- 
bour's unsuspecting  hospitality,  to  enter  his  house  with  an  air  of  open 
friendship,  in  order  to  stab  him  in  the  back  at  a convenient  moment, 
is  an  act  of  the  basest  treachery,  denounced  by  all  mankind  in  all  ages. 
No  one  would  be  more  shocked  by  it  in  private  life  than  the  Germans 
themselves.  But  when  it  is  undertaken  methodically  on  a national 
scale  under  the  influence  of  Deutschland  iiher  Alles,  the  same  conduct 
becomes  ennobled  in  their  eyes,  they  throw  themselves  into  it  with 
enthusiasm  and  lose  all  sense  of  honour.  Such  is  the  moral  perversion 
worked  by  Kultur  and  the  German  theory  of  the  State. 

An  inevitable  consequence  is  that  in  future  the  movements  and  pro- 
ceedings of  Germans  in  other  countries  will  be  watched  with  intense 
suspicion,  and  if  Governments  do  not  prevent  the  sort  of  thing  depicted 
by  Mr.  Raemaekers  the  people  will  see  to  it  themselves.  The  cartoon 
is  not,  of  course,  intended  to  reflect  personally  on  the  owner  of  Krupp’s 
works,  who  is  said  to  be  a gentle-minded  and  blameless  lady.  It  is  her 
misfortune  to  be  associated  by  the  chance  of  inheritance  with  the 
German  war  machine  and  one  of  the  underhand  methods  by  which  it  has 
pursued  its  aims. 

A.  SHADWELL. 


172 


ON  CONCRETE  EOUN  DAT  IONS 

Big  Bertma;  “What  a charming  view  over  Elushing  harbour!  May  I hiiild 
a villa  here'” 


173 


Pallas  Athene 

Has  it  come  to  this?”  Well  may  the  Goddess  ask  this  question.  Times  are 
indeed  changed  since  the  heroic  days.  Germany  has  still  her  great  Greek 
scholars,  one  or  two  of  them  among  the  greatest  living,  men  who  know,  and 
can  feel,  the  spirit,  as  well  as  the  letter,  of  the  old  Glassies.  Do  they  remember  to- 
day what  the  relation  of  the  Goddess  of  Wisdom  was  to  the  God  of  War,  in  Homer, 
when,  to  use  the  Latin  names  which  are  perhaps  more  familiar,  to  the  general 
reader  than  the  Greek,  Mars  “indulged  in  lawless  rage,”  and  Jove  sent  Juno  and 
Minerva  to  check  his  “frightfulness?” 

“Go!  and  the  great  Minerva  be  thine  aid; 

To  tame  the  monster-god  Minerva  knows, 

And  oft  afflicts  his  brutal  breast  with  woes.” 

and  how  the  hero  Diomede,  with  Minerva’s  aid,  wounded  the  divine  bully  and  sent 
him  bellowing  and  whimpering  back,  only  to  hear  from  his  father  the  just  rebuke: 

“To  me,  perfidious!  this  lamenting  strain? 

Of  lawless  force  shall  lawless  Mars  complain? 

Of  all  the  gods  who  tread  the  spangled  skies, 

'thou  most  unjust,  most  odious  in  our  eyes! 

Inhuman  discord  is  th\’  dear  delight, 

1 he  waste  of  slaughter,  and  the  rage  of  fght!” 

It  is  most  true.  Such  has  ever  been  War  for  War’s  sake,  and  when  the  Germans 
themselves  are  wounded  and  beaten,  they  complain  like  Mars  of  old  of  “lawless  force.” 
But  Raemaekers  has  introduced  another  touch  more  Roman  than  Greek,  and 
reminding  us  perhaps  of  Tacitus  rather  than  of  Homer. 

Who  was  Caligula,  and  what  does  his  name  mean?  “Little  Jack-boots,”  in  his 
childhood  the  spoiled  child  of  the  camp,  as  a man,  and  Caesar,  the  first  of  the 
thoroughly  mad,  as  well  as  bad.  Emperors  of  Rome,  the  first  to  claim  divine  honours 
in  his  lifetime,  to  pose  as  an  artist  and  an  architect,  an  orator  and  a litterateur,  to 
have  executions  carried  out  under  his  own  eyes,  and  while  he  was  at  meals;  who 
made  himself  a God,  and  his  horse  a Consul. 

Minerva  blacking  the  boots  of  Caligula — it  is  a clever  combination! 

But  there  is  an  even  worse  use  of  Pallas,  which  War  and  the  Cierman  War-lords 
have  made.  They  have  found  a new  Pallas  of  their  own,  not  the  supernal  Goddess 
of  Heavenly  Wisdom  and  Moderation,  but  her  infernal  counterfeit,  sung  of  by  a famous 
English  poet  in  prophetic  lines  that  come  back  to  us  to-day  with  new  force. 

W'ho  loves  not  Knowledge,  who  shall  rail 
Against  her  beauty,  may  she  mix 
With  men  and  prosper,  who  shall  fix 
Her  pillars?  let  her  work  prevail. 

Yes,  but  how  do  the  lines  continue? 

What  is  she  cut  from  love  and  faith 

But  some  wild  Pallas  from  the  brain 

Of  Demons,  fiery  hot  to  burst 

All  barriers  in  her  onward  race 
For  power?  Let  her  know  her  place. 

She  is  the  second,  not  the  first. 

Knowledge  is  power,  but,  unrestrained  by  conscience,  a very  awful  power. 

This  is  the  Pallas  whom  the  “Demons,”  from  whose  brain  she  has  sprung,  are 
using  for  their  demoniac  purposes.  She  too  might  have  her  portrait  painted — and 
they.  Perhaps  Raemaekers  will  paint  them  both  before  he  has  done. 

HERBERT  WARNER. 


174 


I’ai.las  Aihene:  “Has  it  come  to  this?^’’ 


• TV 
OUI  > f\Ci 


175 


The  Wonders  of  Culture 

OF  ALL  forms  of  “Kultiir”  or  “frightfulness”  that  which  mate- 
rializes in  the  “the  terror  which  llieth  by  night”  is  to  the 
intelligent  mind  at  one  and  the  same  time  the  most  insensate 
and  damnable.  It  fails  to  accomplish,  cither  in  Paris  or  in  London,  the 
subjugation  l)y  terror  of  the  people  for  which  Germans  seem  to  hope. 
It  is  only  in  German  imagination  that  it  accomplishes  “material  and 
satisfactory  damage  to  forts,  camps,  arsenals,  and  fortified  towns.” 
In  reality  it  inflicts  misery  and  death  upon  a mere  handful  of  people 
(horrible  as  that  may  lie)  and  destroys  chiefly  the  homes  of  the  poor. 
It  serves  no  military  end,  and  the  damage  done  is  out  of  all  proportion 
to  the  expenditure  of  energy  and  material  used  to  accomplish  it. 

The  fine  cartoon  which  Raemaekers  has  drawn  to  bring  home  to 
the  imagination  what  this  form  of  “Kultur”  stands  for  makes  it 
easy  for  us  in  London  to  sympathize  with  our  brothers  and  sisters  in 
Paris.  AYe  have  as  yet  been  spared  daylight  raids  in  the  Metropolitan 
area,  and  so  we  needed  this  cartoon  to  enable  us  to  realize  fully  what 
“Kultur”  by  indiscriminate  Zeppelin  bombs  means. 

^Yho  cannot  see  the  cruel  drama  played  out  in  that  Paris  street? 
The  artist  has  assembled  for  us  in  a few  living  figures  all  the  actors.  The 
dead  woman;  the  orphaned  child,  as  yet  scarcely  realizing  her  loss; 
the  bereaved  workman,  calling  down  the  vengeance  of  Heaven  upon 
the  murderers  from  the  air;  the  stern  faces  of  the  sergents  de  ville, 
evidently  feeling  keenly  their  impotence  to  protect;  and  in  the  back- 
ground other  sergents,  the  lines  of  whose  bent  backs  convey  in  a mar- 
vellous manner  and  with  a touch  of  real  genius  the  impression  of  tender 
solicitude  for  the  injured  they  are  tending.  And  faintly  indicated, 
further  still  in  the  background,  the  crowd  that  differs  little,  whether  it 
be  French  or  English,  in  its  deeper  emotions. 

CLIYE  HOLLAND. 


176 


HIE  WON'DEKS  OF  GUI  TEKI-; 


'^^Folk  Who  Do  Not  Understand  Them^’ 

HOW  often  have  I been  asked  by  sorrow-stricken  mothers  and  wives:  “Why 
does  not  Providence  intervene  either  to  stop  this  war,  or  at  least  to  check  its 
cruelties  and  horrors?”  If  for  many  amongst  us  not  yet  bereaved  this 
European  massacre  is  a puzzle,  it  should  not  cause  us  dismay  or  surprise,  if  the  widow 
or  son-bereaved  mother  lifts  up  her  hands  exclaiming:  “Why  did  not  God  save  him? 
Why  did  He  let  him  be  shot  down  by  those  Huns?” 

Truth  to  tell,  God  has,  so  to  speak,  tied  up  His  own  hands  in  setting  ours  free. 
When  He  placed  the  human  race  upon  the  surface  of  this  planet  He  dowered  them 
with  freedom,  giving  to  each  man  self-determining  force,  by  the  exercise  of  which 
he  was  to  become  ])etter  than  a man  or  worse  than  a beast.  Good  and  evil,  like 
wheat  and  cockle,  grow  together,  in  the  same  field.  The  winnowing  is  at  harvest- 
time, not  before.  Meanwhile,  we  ourselves  have  lived  to  see  the  fairest  portions  of 
this  fair  creation  of  God  changed  from  a garden  into  a desert — pillaged,  ravaged, 
and  Ijrought  to  utter  ruin  by  shot  and  shell,  sword  and  fire.  When  I have  said  this, 
I have  l)ut  uttered  a foreword  to  the  hideous  story,  spoken  the  prologue  only  of 
the  “frightful”  tragedy.  We  are  all  familiar  with  at  least  some  of  the  revolting  facts 
and  details  with  wliich  the  German  soldiery  has  been  found  charged  and  convicted 
by  Commissions  appointed  to  investigate  the  crimes  and  atrocities  adduced  against 
them.  The  verdicts  of  French,  Belgian,  and  English  tribunals  are  unanimous.  They 
all  agree  that  Germany  has  been  caught  redhanded  in  her  work  of  dyeing  the  map  of 
luirope  red  with  innocent  Idood. 

When  you  bend  your  eyes  to  the  pathetic  cartoon  standing  opposite  this  letter- 
press,  is  there  not  l)rought  home  to  you  in  a way,  touching  even  to  tears,  the  “frightful” 
consequences  of  the  misuse  of  human  powers,  more  especially  of  the  attribute  of 
freedom?  If  Germany  had  chosen  to  use,  instead  of  brute  force,  moral  force,  what 
a great,  grand,  and  glorious  mission  might  have  l^een  hers  to-day.  If,  instead  of 
trying  the  impossil)lc  task  of  dominating  the  whole  world  with  her  iron  hand  upon 
its  throat  and  her  iron  heel  upon  its  foot,  she  had  been  satisfied  with  the  portion  of 
the  map  already  belonging  to  her,  and  had  not  by  processes  of  bureaucratic  tyranny 
driven  away  millions  of  her  sulqects  who  preferred  lil)erty  to  slavery,  America  to 
Germany,  by  this  date  she  might  have  consolidated  an  Empire  second  in  the  world 
to  none  l)ut  one.  Alas!  in  her  over-reaching  arrogance  she  has,  on  the  contrary, 
set  out  to  de-Christianize,  de-civilize,  and  even  de-humanize  the  race  for  which 
Christ  lived  and  died. 

Our  high  mission  it  is  to  try  to  save  her  from  herself.  Already  I can  read  written 
in  letters  of  blood  carved  into  the  gravestone  of  her  corrupted  greatness. 


“Ill-weaved  ambition, 

How  much  art  thou  shrunk!” 


BERNARD  VAUGHAN. 


I.ES  BEALITES  DE  LA  GUERRE 
Eolk  who  do  not  understand  them. 


179 


LJ-. 


On  the  Way  to  Calais 

They  are  coming,  like  a tempest,  in  their  endless  ranks  of  gray, 
While  the  world  throws  up  a cloud  of  dust  upon  their  awful  way; 
They’re  the  glorious  cannon  fodder  of  the  mighty  Fatherland, 
Born  to  make  the  kirgdoms  tremble  and  the  nations  understand. 

Tramp!  Tramp!  Tramp!  the  cannon  fodder  come 
Along  their  way  to  (ialais;  (God  help  the  hearth  and  home.) 
They’ll  do  his  will  who  taught  them,  on  the  earth  and  on  the  waves, 
Till  land  and  sea  are  festering  with  their  unnumbered  graves. 

The  garrison  and  barrack  and  the  fortress  give  them  vent; 

They  sweep,  a herd  of  winter  wolves,  upon  the  flying  scent; 

For  all  their  deeds  of  horror  they  are  told  that  death  atones. 

And  their  master’s  harvest  cannot  spring  till  he  has  sowed  their  bones. 

Into  beasts  of  prey  he’s  turned  them;  when  they  show  their  teeth  and 
growl 

The  lash  is  buried  in  their  cheeks;  they’re  slaughtered  if  they  howl; 

To  their  bloody  Lord  of  Battles  must  they  only  bend  the  knee. 

For  hard  as  steel  and  tierce  as  hell  should  cannon  fodder  be. 

Scourge  and  curses  are  their  portion,  pain  and  hunger  without  end, 
ddll  they  hail  the  yell  of  shrapnel  as  the  welcome  of  a friend; 
dliey  drink  and  burn  and  rape  and  laugh  to  hear  the  women  cry. 

And  do  the  devil’s  work  to-day,  but  on  the  morrow  die. 

Drift!  Drift!  Drift!  the  cannon  fodder  go 

L^pon  their  way  to  Calais,  (God  feed  the  carrion  crow.) 

They’ve  done  his  will  who  taught  them  that  the  Germans  shall  be 
slaves. 

Till  land  and  sea  are  festering  with  their  unnumbered  graves. 

EDEN  PHILLPOTTS. 


180 


TIIR  \SER 

“W’e  are  on  our  way  to  Calais.” 


181 


Von  Bethmann-Hollweg  and  Truth 

“ hicorrupta  Fides,  nudaque  Veritas.” 

Horace. 

“Good  Faith  unstained,  and  Truth  all-unadorned.” 


Ik  T UDA  VERITAS:  it  was  Florace  who  in  a famous  Ode  first  presented  the 
/ \/  of  Truth  thus.  And  whom  did  he  make  her  companions  and  sisters? 

J.  V They  were  three,  and  their  names  were  “Modesty,”  “Fair  Dealing,”  and 
“Good  Faith.”  The  four  sisters  do  indeed  go  together  in  a quadruple  alliance  and 
entente,  and  when  one  is  flouted  or  estranged,  the  others  are  alienated  and  become 
enemies  too. 


The  Germans  were  believed  to  be — some  few  still  believe  them  to  be  — a “truth- 
loving  nation.”  They  had  a passion,  we  were  told,  for  truth,  for  accuracy,  for  scientific 
exactness.  Theirs  might  be  a blunt  and  brutal  frankness,  but  they  were  at  least 
downright  and  truthful. 


Well,  they  first  flouted  Modesty — they  bragged  and  blustered,  bluffed  and 
“bounded.”  They  could  not  keep  it  up.  They  had  to  act.  Fair  Dealing  went  by 
the  board.  Then  Good  Faith  became  impossible,  for,  as  this  very  von  Bethmann- 
Hollweg  declared,  “Necessity  knew  no  law.”  Now  they  have  forsaken  Truth. 
They  must  deceive  their  own  people.  The  “lie”  has  entered  into  their  soul.  Never 
was  so  systematic  a use  made  of  falsehoods  small  and  great. 

But  Truth  expelled  is  not  powerless.  Naked,  she  is  still  not  weaponless.  She  has 
her  little  “periscope,”  her  magic  mirror,  which  shows  the  liar  himself,  as  well  as 
the  world,  what  he  is  like.  And  she  has  another  weapon,  as  those  who  know 
their  “Paradise  Lost”  will  rememljer: 


“Bright  Ithuriel’s  lance 
t ruth  kindling  truth  where’er  it  glance.” 

It  is  not  shown  here,  for  it  is  invisible,  but  none  the  less  potent.  With  it 
Truth  can  indeed  “shame  the  devil.”  She  not  only  shows  what  the  liar  is  like  outside, 
but  reveals  his  inner  hideousness,  and  actual  shape,  for  all  to  see. 

There  are  many  sayings  about  Truth,  and  they  are  all  awkward  for  the  liar. 
“Truth  will  out,”  said  a witty  English  judge,  “even  in  an  affidavit.”  It  will  out, 
even  in  a German  Chancellor’s  dementi. 

The  most  famous  is 

“Magna  csf  veriias  et  pravalet" 

“Great  is  Truth  and  she  prevails,”  in  the  end. 

Yes,  “She  is  on  the  path,  and  nothing  will  stop  her.”  She  started  on  the  hills 
of  the  little  but  free  republic  of  Switzerland;  she  is  slowly  traversing  the  plains  .of 
the  vast  free  republic  of  America.  Her  last  contest  will  be  over  the  Germans 
themselves. 

HEBBERT  WARREN. 


182 


VON  BETIIMANN-IIOLLWEG  AND  TRUril 
“Truth  is  on  the  path  and  nothing  will  stay  her.” 


183 


Van  Tromp  and  De  Ruyter 

A GENERATION  ago  a little  clique  of  wise  men  at  Oxford  patted 
themselves  on  the  back  for  having  discovered  “The  Historical 
Method.”  But  the  common  people  of  all  countries  have  always 
known  it.  The  names  of  the  great  dead  are  not  forgotten,  nor  yet  the 
great  things  for  which  they  stood.  There  may  be  no  strict  liturgy  for 
the  ancestor  worship  of  the  West,  but  that  worship  is  a simple  fact,  and 
it  is  a thing  that  timorous  politicians  would  do  well  to  remember. 
Here  Raemaekers  appeals  to  his  countrymen  to  regard  their  past,  to 
be  worthy  of  the  great  seamen  who  took  the  Dutch  fleet  up  the  Medway, 
and  lashed  brooms  to  the  mast-head  of  the  ships  that  swept  the  sea 
clear  of  British  enemies. 

The  Dutch  were  fighting  for  their  liberty  then.  Great  Britain  is 
fighting  for  liberty  in  Europe  to-day — and  for  Dutch  liberty  to  boot. 
The  enemy  of  all  liberty  uses  Holland  as  a short  cut  whereby  her 
pirates  of  the  air  can  get  more  quickly  to  their  murder  work  in  England. 
Would  the  hero  ancestors,  of  whom  the  Dutch  so  boast,  have  tolerated 
this  indignity?  The  artist  seer  supplies  the  answer. 

Note  the  mixture  of  the  ghostly  and  the  real  in  this  vivid  and  viva- 
cious drawing.  But  if  it  is  easy  to  see  through  the  faint  outlines  of  the 
sailor  spirits,  it  is  easier  for  these  gallant  ghosts  to  see  through  the 
unrealities  of  their  descendants’  fears  and  hesitations.  The  anger  of 
the  heroes  is  plainly  too  great  for  words.  How  compressed  the  lips! 
How  tense  the  attitude!  The  hands  gripped  in  the  angriest  sort  of 
impatience!  Mark  the  subtle  mingling  of  seaman  and  burgher  in  the 
poise  and  figures.  Mark  particularly  Van  Tromp’s  stiffened  forefinger 
on  his  staff. 

Is  the  fate  of  LI 9 the  fruit  of  our  artist’s  stinging  reminder  that 
Holland  once  had  nobler  spirits  and  braver  days? 

ARTHUR  POLLEN. 


181 


1 


i 


VAN  TROMP  AND  DE  RUYTFR 

■‘So  long  as  you  permit  Zeppelins  to  cross  our  land  you  surely  should  cease  to 
boast  of  our  deeds.” 

Whenever  a Dutchman  wishes  to  speak  of  the  great  past  of  his  country  he  calls  to  mind  the  names  of 
these  heroes. 


1<S5 


fFar  and  Christ 

The  delil)erate  war  made  by  Prussia  in  all  those  areas  which  she 
can  reach  or  occupy  against  the  symbols  and  sacred  objects  of 
the  Christian  faith  is  a phenomenon  in  every  way  worthy  of 
consideration.  It  is  clearly  not  a matter  of  accident.  The  bombard- 
ment at  Rheims  Cathedral,  for  example,  can  be  proved  to  have  been 
deliberate.  It  had  no  military  object;  and  the  subsequent  attempts  to 
manufacture  a military  reason  for  it  only  produced  a version  of  the  oc- 
currence not  only  incredible  but  in  flat  contradiction  to  the  original 
admissions  of  the  Germans  themselves.  But  such  episodes  as  those  of 
Rheims  and  Louvain  merely  attract  the  attention  of  the  world  because 
of  the  celel)rity  of  the  outraged  shrines.  All  who  are  familiar  with  the 
facts  know  that  deliberate  sacrilege  no  less  than  deliberate  rape  and 
deliberate  murder  has  everywhere  marked  the  track  of  the  German 
army. 

The  offence  has  been  malignant.  That  does  not,  of  course,  mean 
that  it  has  been  irrational;  finite  the  contrary.  One  fully  admits 
that  Prussia,  being  what  she  is,  has  every  cause  to  hate  the  Cross,  and 
every  motive  to  vent  the  agonized  fury  of  a lost  soul  upon  things 
sacred  to  the  God  she  hates. 

The  moral  suggested  by  this  cartoon  of  Raemaekers’  must  not  be 
confused  with  the  ridiculous  and  unhistoric  pretence  that  war  itself 
is  essentially  unchristian.  When  Mr.  Bernard  Shaw,  if  I remember 
right,  drew  from  the  affair  of  Rheims  the  astonishing  moral  that  we 
cannot  have  at  the  same  time  “glorious  wars  and  glorious  cathedrals,” 
he  might  surely  have  remembered  that  the  age  in  which  Rheims  Cathe- 
dral was  built,  whatever  else  it  was,  was  not  an  age  of  Pacifism.  The 
insult  to  Jesus  Christ  is  not  in  the  sword  (which  in  His  own  words  He 
came  to  bring),  but  in  the  profanation  of  the  sword.  It  is  in  cruelty, 
injustice,  treachery,  unliridled  lust,  the  worship  of  unrighteous  strength 
- An  fact,  in  all  that  can  be  summed  up  in  the  single  word  “Prussia.” 

CECIL  CHESTERTON. 


186 


WAR  AM)  Cl  IRIS  I 


187 


Barbed  Wire 

SAVE  for  the  spiked  helmets,  the  gruesome  figures  in  the  fore- 
ground of  this  carLoon  might  have  belonged  in  life  to  any  one  of 
the  warring  nationalities.  It  is  a noteworthy  fact,  however,  that 
not  one  of  the  nations  at  war  has  shown  so  little  care  for  its  dead  as 
Germany,  whose  corpses  lie  and  rot  on  every  front  on  which  they  are 
engaged. 

The  world  cannot  blame  Germany  for  the  introduction  of  barbed 
wire  as  an  accessory  of  war,  though  it  is  well  known  that  German  wire 
surpasses  any  other  in  sheer  devilish  ingenuity;  not  that  it  is  more 
effective  as  an  entanglement,  l)ut  its  barbs  are  longer,  and  are  set  more 
closely  together,  than  in  the  wire  used  by  other  nationalities;  it  is,  in 
short,  more  frightful,  and  thus  is  in  keeping  with  the  rest  of  the  acces- 
sories of  the  German  war  machine. 

But  this  in  the  cartoon  is  normal  barbed  wire,  with  its  normal 
burden.  One  may  cpiestion  whether  the  All-Highest  War  Lord,  who  in 
the  course  of  his  many  inspections  of  the  various  fronts  must  have  seen 
sights  like  this,  is  ever  troubled  by  the  thought  that  these,  his  men,  lie 
and  hang  thus  for  his  pleasure,  that  their  ghastly  fate  is  a part  of  his 
glorious  plan.  lie  set  out  to  remake  the  world,  and  here  is  one  of  the 
many  results — broken  corpses  in  the  waste. 

Part  of  the  plan,  broken  corpses  in  the  waste.  By  the  waste  and 
the  corpses  that  he  made  shall  men  remember  the  author  and  framer  of 
this  greatest  war. 

E.  CHARLES  VIVIAN. 


188 


Ar>'i  r_$. 


BARBED  WIRE 


189 


The  Higher  Politics 

There  is  a significance  in  this  cartoon  which  I believe  will  appeal 
much  more  strongly  to  the  firing  line  than  to  Home.  The 
Front  distrusts  politics,  and  especially  the  higher  politics. 
That  means  the  juggling  and  wire-pulling  of  the  Chancelleries,  and  the 
Front  has  an  uneasy  conviction  that  at  the  subtleties  and  craftiness  and 
cunning  of  the  diplomatic  game  we  cannot  compete  with  “The  Bosche.” 
Hard  knocks  and  straight  fighting  the  Front  does  understand,  and  at 
that  game  are  cheerfully  confident  of  winning  in  the  long  run. 

It  would  be  bitter  news  to  the  fighting  men  that  any  peace  had 
been  patched  up  on  any  terms  but  those  the  Allies  soon  or  late  will  be  in 
a position  to  dictate,  to  lay  down  and  say  flatly,  “Take  them  and  have 
Peace;  or  leave  them  and  go  on  getting  licked.”  The  Front  doesn’t  like 
War.  No  man  who  has  endured  the  horrors  and  savagery  and  “blood, 
mud,  and  misery”  of  civilized  warfare  could  pretend  to  like  it.  No 
man  who  has  endured  the  long-drawn  misery  of  manning  the  water- 
logged trenches  for  days  and  weeks  and  months  can  look  forward  with 
anything  but  apprehension  to  another  winter  of  war.  No  man  who  has 
attacked  across  the  inferno  of  the  shell-and-bullet-swept  “neutral 
ground,”  or  has  hung  on  with  tight-clenched  teeth  to  the  battered  ruins 
of  the  forward  fire  trench  under  a murderous  rain  of  machine-gun  and 
rifle  bullets,  a howling  tempest  of  shells,  an  earth-shaking  tornado  of 
high  explosives,  can  but  long  for  the  day  when  Peace  will  be  declared 
and  these  horrors  will  Jje  no  more  than  a past  nightmare. 

But  the  Front  will  “stick  it”  for  another  winter  or  several  winters, 
will  go  through  many  bitter  attacks  and  counter-attacks  to  win  the 
complete  victory  that  will  ensure,  and  alone  will  ensure,  lasting  peace. 
We  know  our  limitations  and  our  weaknesses.  We  admit  that,  as  the 
American  journalist  bluntly  put  it,  we  are  “poor  starters,”  but  we 
know  just  as  surely  he  was  right  in  completing  the  phrase,  “but  darn 
good  finishers.”  Let  the  “higher  politicians”  on  our  side  stand  down 
and  leave  the  fighting  men  to  finish  the  argument.  Let  them  keep 
the  ring  clear,  and  let  the  Front  fight  it  out.  The  Front  doesn’t  mind 
“taking  the  responsibility,”  and  it  will  give  “Kaiser  Bill”  and  “Little 
Willie”  all  the  responsibilities  they  can  handle  before  the  Great  Game 
is  over. 

BOYD  CABLE. 


190 


HIE  HIGHER  POEITiCS 

1 HB  Kaiser  : “We  will  propose  peace  terms;  if  they  accept  them,  we  are  the  gainers: 
if  they  refuse  them,  the  responsibility  will  rest  with  them.” 


191 


The  Loan  Game 

RAEMAEKERS  is  pitiless,  but  never  oversteps  the  truth.  Na- 
tional Debts  are  ever  national  millstones,  worn  around  the  neck. 
They  are  worn  unwillingly,  and  they  are  not  ornamental; 
they  are  a burden,  and  the  weight  is  sometimes  crushing.  A prospect 
of  that  sort  seems  to  l)e  the  lot  of  several  of  the  “Great  Powers”  of 
Europe  for  the  remainder,  and  the  greater  portion,  of  the  Twentieth 
Century.  Though  German  “civilization”  were  more  worthy  of  such  a 
term  and  its  associations  as  Kultur  ten  times  over,  would  it  become 
any  Potentate  and  his  advisers  to  impose  it  on  so  many  countries  at 
such  a cost  in  suffering  as  all  this  -and  more? 

But  Kaiser  Wdlhelm  and  his  crew  of  State-at-any-price  men  impose 
not  on  other  peoples  only:  they  impose  on  their  own  kith  and  kin. 
Look  at  these  three  sad  and  apprehensive  figures  playing  the  Loan  (lame 
— the  first,  the  second,  the  third  Loan!  Children,  says  the  artist, 
jKissing  the  coin  from  one  hand  to  another’s,  and  getting  richer  at  each 
pass!!  Yes,  children,  the  German  people  treated  so  by  a few  dominies. 
State  dominies  and  the  Director  (or  dupe!)  at  Berlin!  No  people  gains, 
every  j)eoj)le  loses  l)y  incurring  a Debt;  but  in  Germany,  and  to-day! 
to  incur  an  indebtedness,  contract  a loss,  does  not  suffice;  the  people 
must  not  know  it. 

Even  the  children  know  that  coin  has  not  left  them  richer:  many, 
very  many  Germans  know  the  Kultur  War  to  be  ruinous:  but  Berlin 
must  play  the  Game  still,  and  assume  that  the  tricks  and  aims  cannot 
be  understood!  It  is  lack  of  regard  for  other  nations  carried  into 
German  Finance;  and  all  because  the  bureaucratic  military  heart  is  a 
stone.  The  jiiling  up  of  State  paper  goes  on,  but  not  merrily,  as  Michael 
goes  from  Darlehnkasse  to  Reichsl)ank,  one,  two,  three  (and  is  about 
to  go  the  fourth  time!).  This  game  of  processions  to  the  Kasse  does 
not  increase  the  availal)le  wealth  within  l)eleaguered  Germany:  and  the 
100-mark  Note  has  no  reference  to  material  wealth  securing  it. 

Now,  the  Commercial  magnates  of  Germany  realize  the  crushing 
fact — No  indemnity  possible!!  and  what  of  the  Notes  which  are  held? 
W'hen  shades  of  night  fall  heavily,  and  the  Loan  Game  can  be  played 
no  more,  will  the  German  people,  tricked  and  impoverished,  go  to  bed 
supperless  and  silent?  German  finance  IS  “a  scrap  of  paper.” 

W.  M.  J.  WILLIAMS. 


192 


WF  IDON’T  L'NDERSl  AND  Hi  IS  LOAN  GAME 

In  Germany  there  is  a game  by  wliich  children  passing  a coin  from  one  to  another 
are  supposed  to,  but  do  not.  get  richer. 


193 


A War  of  Rapine 

True,  O Liebknecht,  it  is  indeed  a war  of  rapine,  engendered, 
planned,  and  l)rought  about  by  the  nation  to  which  yon  belong. 
Yet,  foul  as  is  that  nation,  its  foulness  is  not  greater  than  your 
futility,  by  which  you  show  up  the  strength  of  that  which  you  oppose 
with  as  much  effect  as  our  own  Snowden  and  Casement  can  claim  for 
their  efforts  to  arrest  the  work  of  the  Allies. 

Men  who  claim  British  birth  claim  also  the  quality  of  loyalty,  as  a 
rule,  and  thus  there  can  be  little  sympathy  with  such  a one  as  this 
Liebknecht,  whom  Raemaekers  shows  as  a little  ascetic  in  the  presence 
of  the  sombre  War  Lord.  It  is  i)art  of  the  plan  of  Nature  that  every 
country  shall  breed  men  like  this:  men  who  are  constitutionally  opposed 
to  the  current  of  affairs,  ridiculously  futile,  blatantly  noisy,  the  type 
of  which  extreme  Socialists  and  Syndicalists  are  made.  Possessed  of  a 
certain  obstinacy  which  is  almost  akin  to  courage,  they  accomplish 
nothing,  save  to  remain  in  the  public  eye. 

Such  is  Liebknecht,  apostle  of  a creed  that  would  save  the  world 
by  the  gospel  of  mediocrity,  were  human  nature  other  than  it  is.  But, 
in  considering  this  Liebknecht,  let  us  not  forget  that  he  has  no  more  love 
for  England,  or  for  any  of  the  Allies,  than  the  giant  whom  he  attempts 
so  vainly  to  oppose:  he  is  an  apostle,  not  of  peace,  but  of  mere  obstruc- 
tion, perhaps  well-meaning  in  his  way,  but  as  futile  as  the  Crown  Prince, 
and  as  ludicrous. 

E.  CHARLES  VIVIAN. 


104 


I.UrilER-LIEBKNEClIT  IN  IIIE  REICHSTAG 
It  is  a war  of  rapine!  On  that  I take  my  stand.  I cannot  do  otherwise.” 

Liebknecht  was  the  one  member  who  protested  against  the  war. 


195 


The  Dutch  Junkers 

SOME  of  these  drawings  remind  ns  that  the  great  cartoonist’s 
message  was  primarily  delivered  to  his  own  countrymen.  They 
explain  why  he  was  accused,  but  not  convicted,  of  endangering 
the  neutrality  of  the  Netherlands.  He  presents  the  German  monster 
as  a menace  to  all  freedom,  and  not  least  to  the  freedom  of  the  Dutch 
people.  Germany’s  allies  have  sold  theirs;  they  are  harnessed  to  the 
Prussian  war  chariot,  and  must  drag  it  whither  the  driver  bids  them, 
whip  in  hand.  The  nations  in  arms  against  Germany  are  fighting  for 
their  own  and  each  other’s  freedom;  and  the  neutrals  stand  looking 
anxiously  on.  Raemaekers  warns  them  that  their  freedom  too  is  at 
stake.  He  sees  that  it  will  disappear  if  the  Allies  fail  in  the  struggle, 
and  he  shows  his  countrymen  what  they  may  expect. 

In  every  country  there  are  some  ignoble  souls  who  would  rather 
embrace  servitude  than  light  for  freedom.  They  have  a conscientious 
objection  to — danger.  How  far  the  Dutch  .Junkers  deserve  Rae- 
maekers’ satire  it  is  not  for  foreigners  to  judge.  Rut  we  know  the  type 
he  depicts — the  sporting  “nuts,”  with  their  careful  get-up,  effeminate 
paraphernalia,  and  vacuous  countenances.  So  long  as  they  can  wear  a 
sporting  costume  and  carry  a gun  they  are  prepared  to  take  a menial 
place  under  a Prussian  over-lord  and  submit  with  a feeble  fatalism  to 
the  loss  of  national  independence.  It  is  light  satire  in  keeping  with  the 
subject,  and  it  provides  a relief  to  the  sombre  tragedy  which  is  the 
artist’s  prevailing  mood. 

A.  SHADWELL. 


196 


HIE  DUTCH  JUNKERS 

“At  least  we  shall  get  posts  as  gamekeepers  when  Germany  takes  us  after  the  war.” 


197 


The  War  Makers 


HO  are  the  Makers  of  Wars  ? 
The  Kings  of  the  Earth. 


And  who  are  these  Kings  of  the  Earth  ? 

Only  men — not  always  even  men  of  worth, 
But  claiming  rule  by  right  of  birth. 


And  Wisdom  ? — does  that  come  bg  birth  ? 

Nay  then — too  often  the  reverse. 

Wise  father  oft  has  son  perverse, 
Solomon’s  son  was  Israel’s  curse. 

Whi]  su  ffer  things  to  reason  so  averse  ? 

It  always  has  been  so. 

And  only  now  does  knowledge  grow 
To  that  high  point  where  all  men  know — 
Who  would  be  free  must  strike  the  blow. 

And  how  long  will  man  suffer  so  ? 

Until  his  soul  of  Freedom  sings. 

And,  strengthened  by  his  sufferings. 

He  breaks  the  worn-out  leading-strings. 
And  calls  to  stricter  reckonings 
Those  costliest  things-  unworthy  Kings. 


Here  you  have  them!  -Pilloried  for  all  time! 


And  what  a crew!  These  pitiful  self-seekers  and  their  dupes! 

Not  the  least  amazing  phenomenon  of  these  most  amazing  times  is 
the  fact  that  millions  of  men  should  consent  to  be  hurled  to  certain  death, 
and  to  ])ermit  the  ruin  of  their  countries,  to  satisfy  the  insensate  ambi- 
tions of  rulers,  who,  when  all  is  said  and  done,  are  but  men,  and  in  some 
cases  even  of  alien  birth  and  personally  not  specially  beloved  by  them. 

Surely  oue  outcome  of  this  world-war  will  be  the  birth  of  a new 
determination  in  every  nation  that  its  own  voice  and  its  own  will  shall 
control  its  own  destinies  - that  no  one  man  or  self-appointed  cliciue  shall 
swing  it  to  ruin  for  his  or  their  own  selfish  puri)Oses.  Who  pays  the 
piper  must  in  future  call  the  tune. 


“The  world  has  suffered  much  too  long. 

O wonder  of  the  ages — 

O marvel  of  all  time — 

This  wonderful  great  patience  of  the  peoples! 
How  long,  0 Lord,  how  long?” 


The  answer  cannot  come  too  soon  for  the  good  of  the  world. 


.JOHN  OXENHAM. 


198 


V(JX  I'(;i’UIJ  SUl'KHMA  LEX 

I HE  Kaiser;  “Don't  bother  about  your  people,  l ino.  I^eople  only  have  to  applaud 
what  we  say  ” 


199 


The  Christmas  of  Kultur, 
A.D.  1915 

Mary,  worn  with  grief  and  fear,  covers  her  emaciated  face  with 
scarred  hands,  as  she  kneels  in  prayer  before  the  infant  Jesus. 
Joseph,  grown  old  and  feeble,  nails  up  a barricade  of  planks  to 
strengthen  the  door  against  the  missiles  of  Kultur  already  bursting 
through  it  and  threatening  the  sleeping  child.  So  in  that  first  Christ- 
mas, nineteen  centuries  ago,  he  saved  Mary’s  child  from  the  baby- 
massacre  ordered  by  Herod  to  preserve  his  own  throne. 

Kultur,  the  gathered  wisdom  of  the  ages,  has  brought  us  back  to 
the  same  Holy  War.  What  a Christmas!  What  a Festival  of  Peace 
and  goodwill  towards  men! 

People  ask:  Why  does  God  allow  it?  Is  God  dead?  Foolish  ques- 
tions. When  I was  at  school  I had  the  good  fortune  to  be  under  a great 
teacher  whose  name  is  honoured  to-day.  He  used  to  tell  us  that  the 
most  terrible  verse  in  the  Bible  was:  “So  He  gave  them  up  unto  their 
own  hearts’  lust  and  they  walked  in  their  own  counsels’’  (Ps.  Ixxxi,  13). 

Man  has  the  knowledge  of  good  and  evil;  he  has  eaten  of  the  tree 
and  insists  on  going  his  own  way.  He  knows  best.  Is  not  this  the  age 
of  science  and  Kultur?  We  must  not  cry  out  if  the  road  we  have 
chosen  leads  to  disaster. 

Yet  still  the  Child  of  Christmas  lives  and  a divine  light  shines  round 
His  head.  He  sleeps. 

A.  SHADWELL. 


200 


CHRISTMAS  EVK 

Joseph:  "I  he  llol\’  War  is  at  the  door*' 


201 


Serbia 

Genius  has  set  forth  the  most  brutal  characteristic  of  the  Hun. 
In  moments  of  triumph,  invariably  he  is  the  bully,  and,  as 
invariably,  he  wallows  in  brutality — witness  Belgium  under  his 
iron  heel  and,  in  this  cartoon,  stricken  Serbia  impotent  to  ward  off  the 
blow  about  to  be  dealt  by  a monstrous  list.  That  is  the  Teuton  con- 
ception of  War,  Merry  War  {Luslige  Krieg)l  In  the  English  prize-ring 
we  have  an  axiom  indelibly  impressed  upon  novices — “Follow  up  one 
stout  blow  with  another — quick! That,  also,  is  the  consummate 
art  of  war.  But  when  a man  is  knocked  out  we  don’t  savage  him 
as  he  lies  senseless  at  our  feet.  The  Him  does.  His  axiom  is — “As 
you  are  strong,  be  merciless!’’ 

In  the  small  pig-eyes,  in  the  gross,  sensual  lips,  the  mandril-like 
jaw,  the  misshapen  ear,  I see  not  merely  a lifelike  portrait  of  a Hun 
but  a composite  photograph  of  all  Huns,  something  which  should  hang 
in  every  house  in  the  kingdom  until  the  terms  of  such  a peace  have 
been  imposed  which  will  make  the  shambles  in  Belgium,  Poland,  and 
Serbia  an  eternal  nightmare  of  the  past,  never  to  be  repeated  in  the 
future.  And  over  the  ana?mic  hearts  of  the  Trevelyans,  the  Ramsay 
MacDonalds,  the  Arthur  Ponsonbys,  who  dare  to  prattle  of  a peace 
that  shall  not  humiliate  Germany,  I would  have  this  cartoon  tattooed, 
not  in  indigo,  but  in  vermilion. 

If  Ulysses  Grant  exacted  from  the  gallant  Robert  Lee  “Uncondi- 
tional Surrender,’’  and  if  our  generation  approves — as  it  does — that 
grim  ultimatum,  what  will  be  the  verdict  of  posterity  should  we  as  a 
nation-  we  who  have  been  spared  the  unspeakable  horrors  under  which 
other  less  isolated  countries  have  been  “bled  white’’ — descend  to  the 
infamy  of  a compromise  between  the  Powers  of  Darkness  and  Light? 
The  Huns  respect  Force,  and  nothing  else.  Mercy  provokes  contempt 
and  laughter.  I hold  no  brief  for  reprisals  upon  helpless  women  and 
children;  I am  not  an  advocate  of  what  is  called  the  “commercial 
extermination  of  Germany’’;  but  it  is  my  sincerest  conviction  that 
criminals  must  be  punished.  The  Most  Highest  War  Lord  and  his 
people,  not  excluding  the  little  children  who  held  high  holiday  when 
the  Lusitania  was  torpedoed,  are — criminals. 

HORACE  ANNESLEY  VACHELL. 


202 


SERBIA 


203 


The  Last  of  the  Race 

RAEMAKKERS,  the  master  of  an  infinite  variety  of  moods  and 
touch,  reserves  a special  category  of  scorn  for  Von  Tirpitz, 
Savage  cruelty  in  war,  the  wanton  destruction  of  life  and  prop- 
erty, the  whole  gospel  of  frightfulness — these  things  have  been  aban- 
doned (so  the  historians  tell  us),  not  because  savagery  was  bad  morals, 
but  because  it  was  the  worst  way  of  making  war.  It  was  wiser  to  take 
the  enemy’s  property  and  put  it  to  your  own  use  than  to  destroy  it. 
If  it  was  plundered  it  was  wasted.  It  was  wiser  to  spare  men,  women, 
and  children,  so  that  they  should  be  better  suljjects  if  they  remained 
conquered,  less  irreconcilable  enemies,  if  they  were  restored  to  their 
old  allegiance.  Resides,  murder,  plunder,  and  rapine  demoralized  your 
men.  They  made  them  less  etiicient  troops  for  fighting.  Doubtless 
the  argument  is  sound.  But  it  would  never  have  been  accepted  had 
not  the  horrors  of  savagery  l)een  utterly  loathsome  and  repulsive  to  the 
nations  that  abandoned  them. 

Conventions  in  the  direction  of  humanity  are  not,  then,  artificial 
restrictions  in  the  use  of  force.  They  are  natural  restrictions,  because 
all  Christian  and  civilized  people  would  far  rather  observe  th^m  than 
not.  Germany  has  revelled  in  ai)andoning  every  restraint.  Raemaek- 
ers  shows  the  cruelty,  the  wickedness  of  this  in  scores  of  his  drawings. 
Here  it  is  its  folly  that  he  emphasizes. 


The  submarine  is  no  longer  a death-dealing  terror.  It  has  become 
a blul)bering  fish.  And  the  author  of  its  crimes  is  no  diabolical  triton, 
but  a semi-imbecile  old  dotard,  round  whom  his  evil — but  terrified — 
brood  have  clustered;  they  fawning  on  him  in  terror,  he  fondling 
them  in  shaky,  decrepit  fondness.  Note  the  flaccid  paunch,  the  with- 
ered top,  and  the  foolish,  hysterical  face.  How  the  full-dress  cocked 
hat  shames  his  nakedness! 

And  this,  remember,  is  the  German  High  Admiral  as  history  will 
know  him,  when  the  futility  of  his  crimes  is  proved,  their  evil  put 
out  of  memory,  and  only  their  foolishness  remains! 

ARTHUR  POLLEN. 


204 


I I IE  LAST  OF  THE  RACE 

Von  Tirpitz;  No,  my  dears,  I’m  not  sending  any  more  of  you  to  those  wicked 
English:  the  survivors  shall  go  to  the  Zoo.” 


205 


The  Curriculum 

The  nations  are  being  educated  amain,  let  us  hope.  Germany 
has  prided  herself  on  her  education,  her  learning,  and  on  her 
Kultur.  To-day  she  is  beyond  the  calculation  of  all  that  fore- 
sight which  has  been  her  boast,  and  foible.  Human  nature,  other  than 
German,  has  not  been  on  the  national  curriculum,  and,  as  in  other 
departments  of  study,  what  has  not  been  reduced  to  rule  and  line  is 
beyond  the  ken  and  apprehension.  How  stupendously  wrong  a Power 
which  could  count,  and  into  a European  War!  on  insurrection  in  India, 
the  Cape,  and  other  parts  of  the  British  Empire!  and  how  naively  did 
Herr  von  Bethmann-Hollweg  disclose  the  Zeitgeist  of  German  rulers 
when  with  passion  he  declared  Britain  to  be  going  to  war  for  “a  scrap 
of  paper!”  A purpose  to  serve,  a treaty  l)ecomes  “a  scrap” — in 
German  courtly  hands. 

The  artist  depicts  a scene,  with  masterly  pencil,  where  Von  Beth- 
mann-Hollweg himself  is  charged  by  the  All-Highest  to  be  schoolmaster. 
It  is  a grim  department  of  the  training.  Think  of  the  unseen  as  well 
as  that  shown.  What  you  do  see  is  the  lordly,  truculent  Kaiser,  raising 
that  menacing  finger  again.  In  spacious  chair,  he  sits  defiant,  aggres- 
sive, as  a ferocious  captain;  and  there  opposite  is  the  “great  Chancel- 
lor.” bent,  submissive,  apprehensive,  tablet  and  pencil  ready  to  take 
down  the  very  word  of  Kaiserly  wisdom  and  will.  What  is  it?  The 
day’s  fare  for  a week!  reaching  a climax  of  “No  dinner”  on  Saturday, 
and  “Hate”  on  Sunday!  Educative!  of  course  it  will  be. 


Some  day,  not  so  far,  even  the  German  people  will  not  regard  the 
orders  of  the  Army  and  Navy  Staff,  the  cruel  mercies  of  the  Junkers, 
as  a revelation  of  Heaven’s  will.  Three  pounds  of  sugar  for  a family’s 
monthly  supply  will  educate,  even  when  the  gospel  of  force  has  been 
preached  for  fifty  years  to  a docile  people.  Many  of  us  are  in  “a 
strait  betwixt  two”  as  we  see  how  thousands  of  inoffensive  old  men, 
women,  and  children  are  made  to  suffer,  are  placed  by  the  All-Highest 
in  this  Copper  and  Hate  School.  It  is  not  this,  that,  and  the  other 
that  causes  this,  but  the  Director  of  the  School,  who  does  not,  while 
the  miserable  scholars  do,  know  what  it  is  to  endure  “No  dinner,” 
not  only  on  Saturdays,  but  many  other  days.  And  all  to  gratify  the 
mad  projectors  imposing  Kultur  on  an  unwilling  world! 

W.  M.  J.  WILLIAMS. 


206 


r~ 


— I— 6“ rn  i f L 


THE  NEW  SCflOOL  CURRICUEUM 

Wil  l iam:  “Write  it  down,  schoolmaster — Monday  shall  be  Copper  Day;  Tiiesda\', 
Potato  Day:  Wednesday,  Leather  Day;  I'hursday,  Gold  Day;  Eriday,  Rubber  Dav: 
Saturday,  No  Dinner  Day;  and  Sunday,  Hate  Day!” 

207 


The  Dutch  Journalist  to  His 
Belgian  Confrere 

WHETHER  the  type  here  taken  is  a true  criticism  of  a commer- 
cial attitude  in  a neutral  State  like  Holland,  it  does  not 
become  us  to  discuss.  Raemaekers  is  a Dutchman,  and 
doubtless  a patriotic  Dutchman.  And  the  patriot,  and  the  patriot 
alone,  has  not  only  the  right  but  the  duty  of  criticising  his  own  country. 

For  us  it  is  better  to  regard  the  figure  as  an  international,  and  often 
anti-national,  character  who  exists  in  all  nations,  and  who,  even  in  a 
belligerent  country  like  our  own,  can  often  contrive  to  be  neutral 
and  worse  than  neutral.  A prosperous  bully  with  the  white  waistcoat 
and  coarse,  heavily  cuffed  hands,  with  which  such  prosperity  very 
frequently  clothes  itself,  is  represented  as  thrusting  food  in  the  starved 
face  of  an  evicted  Belgian  and  saying;  “Eat  and  hold  your  tongue.” 

The  situation  is  worthy  of  such  record,  if  only  because  it  emphasizes 
an  element  in  the  general  German  plot  against  the  world  which  is  often 
forgotten  in  jihrases  about  fire  and  sword.  The  Prussianized  person 
is  not  only  a military  tyrant;  he  is  equally  and  more  often  a mercantile 
tyrant.  x\nd  what  is  in  this  respect  true  of  the  German  is  as  true  or 
truer  of  the  Pro-Cicrman. 

The  cosmopolitan  agent  of  Prussia  is  a commercial  agent,  and 
works  by  those  modern  methods  of  bribing  and  sacking,  of  boycott 
and  lilackmail,  which  are  not  only  meaner,  but  often  more  cruel,  than 
militarism.  For  any  one  who  realizes  the  power  of  such  international 
combinations,  there  is  the  more  credit  due  to  the  artists  and  men  of 
letters  who,  like  Raemaekers  himself,  have  decisively  chosen  their 
side  while  the  issue  was  very  doubtful.  And  among  the  Belgian 
confreres  there  must  certainly  have  been  many  who  showed  as  much 
courage  as  any  soldier,  when  they  decided  not  to  eat  and  be  silent, 
but  to  starve  and  to  speak. 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


208 


The  Dutch  Journalist  to  His  Belgian  Confrere:  “Hat  and  hold  your  tongue.” 


209 


A Bored  Critic 

From  Homeric  warfare  to  sul)terranean  conflict  of  modern  trenches 
is  a far  cry,  and  Ares,  God  of  Battles,  may  well  yawn  at  the  enter- 
tainmenl  with  which  the  Demon  of  War  is  providing  him.  But 
the  spectator  of  this  grim  “revue”  lacks  something  of  the  patience  of  its 
creator,  and  our  Mephistopheles,  marking  the  god’s  protest,  will  doubt- 
less hurry  the  scene  and  diversify  it  with  new  devilries  to  restore  his 
interest.  Indeed,  that  has  happened  since  Raemaekers  made  his 
picture. 

The  etiquette  of  butchery  has  become  more  complicated  since  Troy 
fell,  yet  it  has  been  so  far  preserved  till  now  that  the  fiend  measures 
Ares  with  his  eyes  and  speculates  as  to  how  far  the  martial  god  may 
be  expected  to  tolerate  his  novel  engines.  Will  asphyxiating  gas, 
and  destruction  of  non-combatants  and  neutrals  on  land  and  sea,  trouble 
him?  Or  will  he  demand  the  rules  of  the  game,  and  decline  to  applaud 
this  satire  on  civilization,  although  mounted  and  produced  regardless 
of  cost  and  reckoning? 

As  the  devil’s  own  entertainment  consists  in  watching  the  effects  of 
his  masterpiece  on  this  warlike  siieclalor,  so  it  may  be  that  those  who 
“staged”  the  greatest  war  in  mankind’s  history  derive  some  bitter  in- 
struction from  its  reception  by  mankind.  They  know  now  that  it 
is  condemned  by  every  civilized  nation  on  earth;  and  before  these 
lines  are  published  their  uncivilized  catspaws  will  have  ample  reason 
to  condemn  it  also.  Neutrals  there  must  be,  but  impartials  none. 

The  sense  and  spirit  of  the  thinking  world  now  go  so  far  with 
human  reason  that  they  demand  a condition  of  freedom  for  all  men 
and  nations,  be  they  weak  or  powerful.  That  ideal  inspires  the  ma- 
jority of  human  kind,  and  it  follows  that  the  evolution  of  morals  sets 
strongly  on  the  side  of  the  Allies. 

“War,”  says  Bernhardi,  “gives  a biologically  just  decision,  since 
its  decisions  rest  on  the  very  nature  of  things.”  So  be  it. 

EDEN  PHILLPOTTS. 


210 


“1  say,  do  suggest  something  new.  This  is  becoming  too  boring.” 


211 


"T/ie  Peace  Woman^’ 


IN  THIS  humorous  yet  pathetic  cartoon — humorous  because  of  its 
truth  to  the  type,  and  pathetic  because  of  the  futility  of  the  effort 
depicted — with  unfailing  skill  the  artist  shows  the  folly  of  the  cry 
“Peace!  Peace!”  when  there  is  none.  In  the  forefront  is  a type 
of  woman  publicist  who  can  never  be  hapj)y  unless  the  limelight  secured 
by  vocal  effort  and  the  advocacy  of  a “crazy”  cause  is  focussed  upon 
her.  She  calls  “Peace!”  that  the  world  may  hear,  not  attend.  Behind 
her  stands  that  other  type  of  detached  “peace  woman,”  who  has, 
judging  from  her  placid  yet  grieved  expression,  apparently  scarcely 
realized  that  the  War  is  too  serious  and  has  its  genesis  in  causes  too 
deep-rooted  to  be  ([uelled  by  her  or  her  kind.  One  can  imagine  her 
saying;  “A  war!  How  terrible!  It  must  be  stopped.” 

The  soldier,  who  is  wise  enough  to  prefer  armour-plate  even  to  a 
shield  provided  by  substantially  built  peace  women  clad  in  white,  looks 
on  amused.  The  thinking  world  as  a whole  so  looks  on  at  “Arks” 
launched  by  American  millionaire  motor  manufacturers,  and  at  Pacifist 
Conferences  held  whilst  the  decision  as  to  whether  civilization  or  savag- 
ery shall  triumph,  and  might  be  greater  than  right,  yet  hangs  in  the 
balance.  There  must  be  no  thought  of  peace  otherwise  than  as  the 
ultimate  reward  of  gallant  men  fighting  in  a just  cause,  and  until  with 
it  can  come  permanent  security  from  the  “Iron  Fist”  of  Prussian 
Militarism  and  aggression,  and  the  precepts  of  Bernhardi  and  his  kind 
are  shown  to  be  false.  Those  who  talk  of  peace  in  the  midst  of  “fright- 
fulness,” of  piracy,  of  reckless  carnage  and  colossal  sacrifices  of  human 
life  which  arc  the  fruits  of  an  attempt  to  save  by  military  glory  a 
crapulous  dynasty,  however  good  their  intention,  lack  both  mental  and 
moral  perspective. 

CLIVE  HOLLAND. 


212 


1 HE  l^EACE  Woman:  “We  will  march  in  white  before  our  sons.” 

I HE  Neutral  Soldier;  “Madam,  we  would  prefer  the  protection  of  an  armour- 
plate.” 


213 


The  Self-satisfied  Burgher 

The  artist  has  depicted  the  ordinary  attitude  of  a self-satisfied 
burgher  not  only  iu  Holland  but  in  other  countries  also.  “What 
does  it  matter  if  we  are  annexed  afterwards,  so  long  as  we  re- 
main neutral  now?”  That  is  the  sort  of  speech  made  by  selhsh  mer- 
chants in  some  of  the  neutral  countries,  especially  those  of  Scandinavian 
origin.  It  is  really  a variety  of  the  old  text:  “Let  ns  cat,  drink,  and  be 
merry;  for  to-morrow  we  die.”  Why  not,  it  is  urged,  make  the  best  of 
present  facilities?  As  long  as  we  are  left  alone  we  can  pursue  our 
ordinary  industrialism.  We  can  heap  up  our  percentages  and  profits. 
Our  trade  is  in  a fairly  flourishing  condition,  and  we  are  making  money. 
No  one  knows  what  the  future  may  bring;  why,  therefore,  worry  about 
it?  Besides,  if  tlic  worst  comes  to  the  worst  and  Germany  annexes  us, 
are  we  quite  sure  that  we  shall  be  in  a much  worse  condition  than  we  are 
now?  It  will  be  to  the  interest  of  Berlin  that  we  should  carry  on  our 
usual  industrial  occupations.  Our  present  liberty  will  proliably  not  be 
interfered  with,  and  a change  of  masters  does  not  always  mean  ruin. 

So  argues  the  self-satisfied  burgher.  If  life  were  no  more  than  a 
mere  matter  of  getting  enough  to  eat  and  drink  and  of  having  a balance 
at  the  banker’s,  his  view  of  the  case  might  pass  muster.  But  a national 
life  depends  on  spiritual  and  ideal  interests,  just  as  a man’s  life  “con- 
sisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things  which  he  possesseth.” 
Freedom  is  the  only  principal  of  growth,  and  freedom  is  the  one  thing 
which  German  militarism  desires  to  make  impossible  for  all  those  whom 
she  gathers  into  her  fold.  The  loss  of  liberty  means  the  ruin  of  all 
those  ends  for  which  a State  exists.  Even  the  material  prosperity 
which  the  self-satished  Inirghcr  desires  will  be  definitely  sacrificed  by 
a submission  to  Teutonic  autocracy. 

W.  L.  COURTNEY. 


214 


TIIF.  SELF-SATISFIED  BURGHER 

“What  does  it  matter  if  we’re  annexed  afterwards,  so  long  as  we  remain  neutral 
now  ? ” 


2 If) 


The  Decadent 

WAR  is  a fiery  winnower  oi‘  ineapaciLies.  Many  reputations 
have  gone  to  the  scrap-heap  since  August,  1914.  None  more 
surely  than  that  of  the  braggart  Crown  Prince.  It  is  said 
that  this  terrible  catastrophe  was  largely  of  his  bringing  about  and  his 
great  desire  and  hope. 

WqW — he  has  got  his  desire,  and  more  than  he  expected. 

He  was  going  to  do  mighty  things — to  smash  through  the  frontier 
and  lead  Ihe  German  hordes  Iriumphanlly  through  France.  And 
what  has  he  done? 

In  the  treacherous  surprise  of  the  moment  he  got  across  the  frontier, 
and  there  the  weighty  French  fist  met  the  Imperial  optic,  and  has  since 
developed  many  stars  in  it.  He  has  been  held,  wasting  men,  time, 
opiiortiinity,  and  his  own  little  apology  for  a soul.  He  has  done 
nothing  to  justify  his  position  or  even  his  existence.  He  has  wrecked 
his  home-life  by  wanton  indulgence.  He  has  made  himself  notorious 
by  his  private  lootings  of  the  chateaux  cursed  with  his  presence. 

Even  in  1870  the  native  cupidity  of  the  far  finer  breed  of  concpierors 
could  not  resist  the  spoils  of  war,  and,  to  their  eternal  disgrace,  train- 
loads of  loot  were  sent  away  to  decorate  German  homes — as  burglars’ 
wives  might  wear  the  jewellery  acciuired  by  their  adventurous  menfolk 
in  the  ciHirse  of  their  nefarious  oiierations. 

But  we  never  heard  of  “Unser  Fritz,”  the  then  Crown  Prince, 
ransacking  the  mansions  he  stayed  in.  He  was  a great  man  and  a 
good  the  very  last  German  gentleman.  And  this  decadent  is  his 
grandson! 

“Unser  Fritz”  was  a very  noble-looking  man.  His  grandson — oh, 
well,  look  at  him  and  judge  for  yourselves!  Of  a surety  the  sight 
is  calculated  to  heighten  one’s  amazement  that  any  nation  under 
the  sun,  or  craving  it,  could  find  in  such  a personality,  even  as  repre- 
sentative of  a once  great  but  now  exjiloding  idea,  anything  whatever 
even  to  put  up  with,  much  less  to  worship  and  die  for. 

The  race  of  Hohenzollern  has  wilted  and  ravelled  out  to  this.  The 
whole  world,  outside  Prussia,  devoutly  hopes  ere  long  to  have  seen 
the  last  of  it. 

It  has  been  at  all  times,  with  the  single  exception  above  noted,  a 
hustling,  grabbing,  self-seeking  race.  May  the  eyes  of  Germany  soon 
be  opened!  Then,  surely,  it  will  be  thrust  back  into  the  obscurity 
whence  heaven  can  only  have  permitted  it  to  escape  for  the  flagellation 
of  a world  which  was  losing  its  ideals  and  needed  bracing  back  with  a 
sharp,  stern  twist. 

JOHN  OXENHAM. 


216 


I_4  au!s 

SEPTEMBER.  1914,  AND  SEPTEMBER,  1915 
1914:  “Now  the  war  begins  as  we  like  it.” 

1915;  “But  this  is  not  as  I wished  it  to  continue.” 

(Published  after  the  French  success  in  Champagne.) 

217 


Liquid  Fire 

WHEN  one  sits  down  to  think,  there  are  few  things  in  con- 
nection with  the  devastating  War  now  raging,  wild-beast- 
like,  almost  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  Europe,  so 
appalling  as  the  application  of  science  and  man’s  genius  to  the  work  of 
decimaling  the  human  species. 

hiaiiy  in  the  conllict,  which  is  being  fought  for  the  basal  principles 
of  civilization  and  moral  human  conduct,  one  was  made  to  realize 
that  the  Allied  Powers  were  opposed  to  an  enemy  whose  resources 
were  only  equalled  by  his  utter  negation  of  the  rules  of  civilized  warfare. 
Soon,  to  the  horrors  of  machine-guns  and  of  high-explosive  shells  of 
a calibre  and  intensity  of  destructive  force  never  before  known,  were 
added  the  diabolical  engines  for  pouring  over  the  held  of  battle  as- 
phyxiating gases.  We  know  the  horrors  of  that  mode  of  German 
“frightfulness,”  and  some  of  us  have  seen  its  effects  in  the  slowly  dying 
victims  in  hospitals.  But  that  was  not  enough.  Yet  other  methods 
of  “frightfulness”  and  savagery,  which  would  have  disgraced  the 
most  ruthless  conquerors  of  old,  were  to  be  applied  by  the  German 
hmiperor  in  his  blasphemous  “Gott  mit  uns”  campaign.  And  against 
the  gallant  sons  of  Belgium,  France,  England,  and  Russia  in  turn 
were  poured  out  with  bestial  ingenuity  the  jets  and  curtains  of  “liquid 
fire”  which  seared  the  flesh  and  blinded  the  eyes.  For  this  there  will 
be  a reckoning  if  Cmd  be  still  in  heaven  whilst  the  world  trembles  with 
the  shock  of  conflict,  and  the  souls  of  men  are  seared. 

Raemaekers  in  this  cartoon  shows  not  only  the  horror  of  such  a 
method  of  warfare,  but  also,  with  unerring  pencil,  the  unwavering 
spirit  of  the  men  who  have  to  meet  this  “frightfulness.”  There  is 
a land  to  be  redeemed,  and  women  and  children  to  be  avenged,  and 
so  the  lighting  men  of  the  allied  nations  go  gallantly  on  with  their  stern, 
amazed  faces  set  towards  victory. 

CLIVE  HOLLAND. 


218 


UOUII)  FIRF, 


219 


Nish  and  Paris 

VERY  happily  and  very  graphjcally  has  Raemaekers  here  pointed 
the  contrast  between  the  Gargantuan  hopes  with  which  the 
Kaiser  and  his  Junker  army  embarked  on  the  War,  and  the 
exiguous  and  shadowy  fruits  of  their  boasted  victories  up  to  the  pres- 
ent. They  foretold  a triumphal  entry  into  the  conciuered  capital 
of  France  within  a month  of  the  opening  of  hostilities.  Yet  the  irony 
of  Fate  has,  slowly  but  surely,  cooled  the  early  fever  of  anticipation. 
The  only  captured  town  where  the  All-IIighest  has  found  an  oppor- 
tunity of  lifting  his  voice  in  exultant  paean  is  Nish,  a secondary  city 
of  the  small  kingdom  of  Serbia.  There,  too,  he  perforce  delayed  his 
jubilation  until  the  lapse  of  some  eighteen  months  after  the  date 
provisionally  and  prematurely  fixed  in  the  first  ebullition  of  over- 
confidence, for  his  triumphal  procession  through  Paris. 

Nish  is  a town  of  little  more  than  20,000  inhabitants;  about  the 
size  of  Taunton  or  Hereford — smaller  than  Woking  or  Hartford. 
Working  on  a basis  of  comparative  populations,  the  Emperor  would 
have  to  repeat  without  more  delay  his  lira  very  at  Nish  in  150  towns 
of  the  same  size  before  he  could  convince  his  people  that  he  is  even 
now  on  the  jioint  of  fulfilling  his  first  rash  promises  to  them  of  the 
rapid  overthrow  of  his  foes.  Pursuing  the  same  calculation,  he  is 
bound  to  multiply  his  present  glories  350  times  before  he  can  count 
securely  on  spending  a night  as  conquering  hero  in  Buckingham  Palace. 

Even  the  Kaiser  must  know  in  his  heart  that  woefully,  from  his  own 
and  his  people’s  point  of  view,  did  he  overestimate  his  strength  at 
the  outset.  For  the  time  he  contents  himself  with  the  liackwater  of 
Nish  for  the  scene  of  his  oratory  of  conquest.  His  vainglorious  words 
may  well  prove  in  their  environment  the  prelude  of  a compulsory 
confession  of  failure,  which  is  likely  to  come  at  a far  briefer  interval 
than  the  eighteen  months  which  separate  the  imaginary  hope  of  Paris 
from  the  slender  substance  of  Nish. 

SIDNEY  LEE. 


220 


THE  TRIALS  OF  A COURT  FAINTER 

“I  commenced  this  as  the  entry  into  Paris,  hut  I must  finish  it  as  the  entry  into 
Nish.” 


221 


Gott  Strafe  England! 

IN  THESE  sombre  times  one  is  grateful  for  a touch  of  humour,  and  it 
would  perhaps  be  impossible  to  conceive  in  all  created  nature  a 
spectacle  so  exquisitely  ludicrous  as  the  appearance  of  the  Prus- 
sian in  the  guise  of  a Wronged  Man.  For,  of  course,  it  is  the  very 
foundation  of  the  Prussian  theory  that  there  can  be  no  such  thing  as  a 
wronged  man.  Might  is  right.  That  which  physical  force  has 
determined  and  shall  determine  is  the  only  possible  test  of  justice. 
That  was  the  diabolic  but  at  least  coherent  philosophy  upon  which 
the  Kingdom  of  Prussia  was  originally  leased  and  upon  which  the 
German  Empire  created  l)y  Prussia  always  reposed. 

Nor  was  that  philosophy — which  among  other  things  dictated 
this  war — ever  questioned,  much  less  abandoned,  by  the  Germans  so 
long  as  it  seemed  prol)able  to  the  world  and  certain  to  them  that  they 
were  destined  to  win.  Now  that  it  has  l)egnn  to  penetrate  even  into 
their  mind  that  they  are  probably  going  to  lose,  we  find  them  sud- 
denly blossoming  out  as  pacifists  and  humanitarians. 

Especially  are  they  indignant  at  the  “cruelty”  of  the  blockade. 
It  is  not  necessary  to  examine  seriously  a contention  so  o])viously 
absurd.  Any  one  acquainted  with  the  history  of  war  knows  the 
blockade  of  an  enemy’s  ports  is  a thing  as  old  as  war  itself.  Every  one 
acquainted  with  the  records  of  the  last  half-century  knows  that  Prussia 
owes  half  her  prestige  to  the  reduction  of  Paris  in  1871 — effected  solely 
by  the  starvation  of  its  civilian  inhabitants. 

But  the  irony  goes  deeper  than  that.  Look  at  the  face  of  the 
Prussian  in  “Raemaekers’  Cartoons”  and  you  will  understand  why  Ger- 
mans in  America,  Holland,  and  other  neutral  countries  are  now  talking 
pacifism  and  exuding  humanitarian  sentiment.  You  will  understand 
why  the  German  Chancellor  says  that  in  spite  of  the  victorious  march 
of  Germany  from  victory  to  victory  his  tender  heart  cannot  but  plead 
for  the  dreadful  sufferings  of  the  unhappy,  though  criminal.  Allies. 
Then  you  will  laugh;  which  is  good  in  days  like  these. 

CECIL  CHESTERTON. 


222 


ouis 


.ciprr>  or 


GOT!'  SFRAFE  ENGl.AND! 

“ Now  she  prevents  my  sending  goods  by  the  Holland  route!  ” 


223 


The  Pacificist  Kaiser 
(The  Confederates^ 


ROM  time  to  lime  of  late  the  Kaiser  has  posed  as  the  champion 


of  peace.  Ilis  ofiieial  spokesman,  Chancellor  Bethmann-Holl- 


weg,  has  announced  the  Imperial  readiness  to  stay  the  war — 
on  his  master's  own  terms,  which  he  disdains  to  define  precisely. 

The  Emperor  and  his  advisers  are  involved  in  a tangle  of  mis- 
calculations which  infest  the  conduct  of  the  war  alike  in  the  held  of 
liattle  and  the  council-chaml^er.  But  no  wild  imaginings  could  en- 
courage a solid  hope  that  the  (Tancellor’s  peaceful  professions  would 
be  taken  seriously  by  anybody  save  his  own  satellites.  Loudly  the 
compliant  Minister  vaunted  in  the  Reichstag  his  country’s  military 
successes,  but  he  could  point  to  no  signs  either  of  any  faltering  in 
military  preparations  on  the  part  of  the  Allies,  or  of  their  willingness 
to  entertain  humiliating  conditions  of  peace. 

Even  in  Germany  clear  visions  acknowledge  that  Time  is  fighting 
valiantly  on  the  side  of  (Germany’s  foes,  and  that  peace  can  only  come 
when  the  Central  Powers  l)eg  for  it  on  their  knees. 

It  is  improbable  that  the  Kaiser  and  his  Chancellor  now  harbour 
many  real  illusions  about  the  future,  although  they  may  well  be 
anxious  to  disguise  even  to  themselves  the  ultimate  issues  at  stake  in 
the  war.  Their  home  and  foreign  policy  seems  to  be  conceived  in  the 
desperate  spirit  of  the  gambler.  They  appear  to  be  recklessly  specu- 
lating on  the  chances  of  a pacificist  role  conciliating  the  sympathy  of 
neutrals.  They  count  on  the  odds  that  they  may  convert  the  public 
opinion  of  non-coml)atant  nations  to  the  erroneous  belief  that  Ger- 
many is  the  conqueror,  and  that  further  resistance  to  her  is  futile. 
But  so  far  the  game  has  miscarried.  The  recent  German  professions 
of  zeal  for  peace  fell  in  neutral  countries  on  deaf  or  impatient  ears. 
The  braggart  bulletins  of  the  German  Press  Bureau  have  been  valued 
at  their  true  worth.  Neutral  critics  have  found  in  Bethmann-Holl- 
weg’s  cry  foi'  peace  mere  wasted  breath 

The  (diancellor  and  his  master  are  perilously  near  losing  among 
neutrals  the  last  shreds  of  reputation  for  political  sagacity. 


SIDNEY  LEE. 


221 


THE  C(3NFEnERATES 

Did  they  believe  that  peace  story  in  the  Reiclistag,  Bethmann?” 
“ \’es,  blit  the  Allies  didn’t.” 


Dinant 

During  the  joint  expedition  to  Peking,  all  the  oilier  contin- 
gents were  horrilied  at  the  cruelly  of  the  German  troops.  I 
have  heard  how  on  one  occasion  a number  of  Chinese  women 
were  watching  a German  regiment  a I drill,  when  suddenly  the  com- 
manding oflicer  ordered  his  men  to  open  fire  upon  them.  When  re- 
monstrated with,  he  replied  that  terrorism  was  humane  in  the  end, 
because  it  made  the  enemy  desire  peace.  For  some  reason,  these 
atrocities  were  not  very  widely  known  in  England;  and  no  one  dreamed 
lhal  such  infernal  crimes  would  ever  be  perpetrated  in  European  war. 
Hut  such  are  indeed  the  calculated  methods  of  Germany;  and  her 
ofiicers  began  to  order  them  as  soon  as  her  troops  crossed  the  Belgian 
frontier.  The  German  military  authorities  advise  that  terrorism  should 
be  used  sparingly  when  there  is  danger  of  reprisals.  Accordingly, 
though  many  abominable  things  have  been  done  to  civilians  in  France 
and  Russia,  and  to  ourselves  when  opportunity  offered,  the  worst 
atrocities  were  committed  in  Belgium,  because  Belgium  is  a small 
country,  which  had  dispensed  with  universal  military  service  in 
reliance  on  the  international  guarantee  of  her  security.  These  events 
of  the  first  month  of  the  war  are  in  danger  of  being  forgotten,  now  that 
Germany  is  contending  on  equal  terms  against  the  great  nations  of 
luirope.  But  they  must  not  be  forgotten.  We  are  fighting  against  a 
nation  which  thinks  it  good  policy  to  massacre  non-combatants, 
provided  only  that  the  sons  and  brothers  of  the  victims  are  not  in  a 
position  to  retaliate. 

W.  R.  INGE. 


226 


niNANT  I SF.H  FAI  RER. 


227 


^‘Tfesperia”  (Wounded  First) 

Sailors  of  all  nationality  except  German  have  from  time  im- 
memorial looked  upon  themselves  as  the  guardians  and  pro- 
tectors of  land  folk  at  sea. 

That  is  why  every  sailor  in  the  world,  outside  the  doggeries  of 
Hamburg,  felt  his  calling  spat  upon  and  his  personal  pride  injured  by 
the  sinking  of  the  Lusitania — by  a sailor. 

It  seemed  that  nothing  could  be  worse  than  that,  and  then  came 
the  sinking  of  the  Hesperia,  a ship  filled  with  wounded  soldiers  and 
Hospital  nurses. 

Raemaekers  brings  the  fact  home  to  us  in  this  cartoon,  not  the  fact 
of  the  English  nurses’  heroism,  which  goes  without  saying,  but  of 
(ierman  low-down  common  infamy.  The  fact  has  become  so  com- 
monplace, so  accustomed,  so  everyday  that  pictures  of  burning  cathe- 
drals, murdered  children,  and  terrified  women  no  longer  move  us  as 
they  did,  but  this  artist,  whose  command  of  language  seems  as  infinite 
and  varied  as  the  crimes  of  the  criminals  whom  God  sent  him  to 
scourge,  has  always  some  stroke  in  reserve,  something  to  add  to  what 
he  has  said,  if  need  be.  In  the  case  of  this  picture  it  is  the  medicine 
bottle,  glass,  and  spoon  flying  off  the  shelf,  flung  to  the  floor  by  the 
bursting  charge  of  Tri-nitro-toluine  that  adds  the  last  touch  as  dis- 
tinctive as  the  artist’s  signature. 

H.  Dh:  YERE  STACPOOLE. 


228 


Another  kind  of  lieroisim — the  sinking  of  the  I lospital  Ship  Hesperia  (\V<)unded  hirst) 


229 


Gallipoli 

IT  IS  a fine  loiich,  or  a fortunate  accident,  in  this  sketch  of  Rae- 
mackers’  that  it  depicts  the  officer  who  has  made  the  mistake  as 
exhibiting  the  sprnceness  of  a Prussian,  and  the  officer  who  has 
found  out  the  mistake  as  having  the  comparatively  battered  look  of 
an  old  Turk.  The  moustaches  of  the  Young  Turk  arc  modelled  on  the 
Kaiser's,  spikes  ])ointing  to  heaven  like  spires;  while  those  of  his 
justly  incensed  superior  officer  hang  loose  like  those  of  a human  being. 
The  difference  is  in  any  case  symbolic;  for  the  sort  of  instinctive  and 
instantaneous  self-laudation  satirized  in  this  cartoon  is  much  more  one 
of  the  vices  of  the  new  Germany  than  of  the  antiquated  Islam.  That 
spirit  is  not  easy  to  define;  and  it  is  easy  fo  confuse  it  with  much  more 
pardonable  things.  Every  people  can  be  jingo  and  vainglorious;  it  is' 
the  mark  of  this  spirit  that  the  instinct  to  be  so  acts  before  any  other 
instinct  can  act,  even  those  of  surprise  or  anger.  Every  people 
emphasizes  and  exaggerates  its  victories  more  than  its  defeats.  But 
this  sj)irit  emj)hasizes  its  defeats  as  victories.  Every  national  calam- 
ity has  its  consolations;  and  a nation  naturally  turns  to  them  as  soon 
as  it  reasonably  can.  But  it  is  the  stamp  of  this  s])irit  that  it  always 
thinks  of  the  consolalion  before  it  even  thinks  of  the  calamity.  It 
abounds  throughout  the  whole  press  of  the  German  Empire.  But  it 
is  most  shortly  shown  in  this  ligurc  of  the  young  officer,  who  makes  a 
hero  of  himself  before  he  has  even  fully  realized  that  he  has  made  a 
fool  of  himself. 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


230 


GALLIPOLI 

Turkish  Gunhral:  “What  are  you  firing  at?  The  Ikitish  evacuated  th.e  place 
twenty-four  hours  ago! " 

“Sorry,  sir — hut  what  a glorious  victory! 

231 


The  Beginning  of  the  Expiation 

IT  IS  somelimes  an  unpleasant  necessity  to  insult  a man,  in  order 
to  make  him  understand  that  he  is  being  insulted.  Indeed, 
most  strenuous  and  successful  appeals  to  an  oppressed  populace 
have  involved  something  of  this  paradox.  We  talk  of  the  demagogue 
flattering  the  mob;  but  the  most  successful  demagogue  generally 
abuses  it.  The  men  of  the  crowd  rise  in  revolt,  not  when  they  are 
addressed  as  “Citizens!”  but  when  they  are  addressed  as  “Slaves!” 

If  this  be  true  even  of  men  daily  disturbed  by  material  discomfort 
and  discontent,  it  is  much  truer  of  those  cases,  not  uncommon  in 
history,  in  which  the  slave  has  been  soothed  with  all  the  external 
pomp  and  luxury  of  a lord.  So  prophets  have  denounced  the  wan- 
ton in  a palace  or  the  puppet  on  a throne;  and  so  the  Dutch  caricaturist 
denounces  the  gilded  captivity  of  the  Austrian  Monarchy,  of  which 
the  golden  trappings  are  golden  chains. 

But  for  such  a purpose  a caricaturist  is  better  than  a prophet, 
and  comic  pictures  better  than  poetical  phrases.  It  is  very  vital  and 
wholesome,  even  for  his  own  sake,  to  insult  the  Austrian.  He  ought 
to  be  insulted  because  he  is  so  much  more  respectable  than  the  Prus- 
sian, who  ought  not  to  be  insulted,  but  only  kicked.  If  Austria  feels  no 
shame  in  letting  the  Holy  Roman  Empire  become  the  petty  province 
of  an  Unholy  Barbarian  Empire,  if  such  high  historic  symbols  no 
longer  affect  her,  we  can  only  tell  her,  in  as  ugly  a picture  as  possible, 
that  she  is  a lackev  carrying  luggage. 

G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


232 


y^rpin 


-T  ■ T / 

J ot-n  ■;  ' . 


THE  BEGINNING  OF  THE  EXPIATION 


233 


The  Shirkers 

CURRENT  experience  is  proving  that  war  is  a grim  condition  of 
life,  and  that  none  can  escape  its  effects.  No  religious  or 
philosophic  precept  is  potent  enough  in  practical  application 
to  prevent  its  oiilbreak  or  to  stay  its  course.  The  strong  man  of 
military  age,  who  claims  the  right  to  pursue  normal  peaceful  avocations 
when  his  country  is  at  war,  pleads  guilty,  however  involuntarily,  to 
aberrations  of  both  mind  and  heart. 

There  are  few  who  do  not  conscientiously  cherish  repugnance  for 
war,  but  practically  none  of  those  to  whom  so  natural  a sentiment 
makes  most  forcible  appeal  deem  it  a man’s  part  to  refuse  a manifest 
personal  call  of  natural  duty.  The  conscientious  objector  to  com- 
batant service  may  in  certain  rare  cases  deserve  considerate  treatment, 
but  very  short  shrift  should  await  the  able-bodied  men  who,  from 
love  of  ease  or  fear  of  danger,  simulate  conscientious  objection  in  order 
to  evade  a righteous  obligation. 

Lack  of  imagination  may  be  at  times  as  responsible  for  the  sin  of 
the  shirker  as  lack  of  courage.  Patriotism  is  an  instinct  which  works 
as  sluggishly  among  the  unimaginative  as  among  the  cowardly  and  the 
selfish.  The  only  cure  for  the  sluggish  working  of  the  patriotic  in- 
stinct among  the  cowardly  and  the  selfish  is  the  sharp  stimulus  of 
condign  punishment.  But  among  the  unimaginative  it  may  be  worth 
experimenting  by  way  of  preliminary  with  earnest  and  urgent  appeals 
to  example  such  as  is  offered  not  only  by  current  experience,  but  also 
by  literature  and  history.  No  shirkers  would  be  left  if  every  subject 
of  the  Crown  were  taught  to  apprehend  the  significance  of  Henley’s 
interrogation : 

What  have  I done  for  you, 

England,  my  England? 

What  is  there  I w'ould  not  do, 

England,  my  owai? 

SIDNEY  LEE. 


234 


rilE  SHIRKERS 


235 


One  of  the  Kaiser^ s Many  Mistakes 

LOUIS  BOTHA — we  touch  our  hats  to  you! 

You  are  supremely  and  triumphantly  one  of  the  Kaiser’s 
^ many  mistakes.  You  have  proved  yourself  once  again  a 
capable  leader  and  a man  among  men.  You  have  proved  him  once 
more  incapable  of  apprehending  the  meaning  of  the  word  honour. 
You  are  an  honourable  man.  Even  as  a foe  you  fought  us  fair  and  we 
honoured  you.  You  have  valiantly  helped  to  dig  the  grave  of  his 
dishonour  and  have  proved  him  a fool.  \Ve  thank  you!  And  we 
thank  the  memory  of  the  clear-visioned  men  of  those  old  days  who, 
in  spite  of  the  clamour  of  the  bats,  persisted  in  tendering  you  and 
yours  that  right  hand  of  friendship  which  you  have  so  nobly  justified. 

You  fought  us  fair.  You  have  uprisen  from  the  ashes  of  the  past 
like  the  Phoenix  of  old.  You  are  Briton  with  the  best. 

Fair  fight  breeds  no  ill-will.  It  is  the  man,  and  the  nation,  that 
fights  foul  and  flings  God  and  humanity  overboard  that  lays  up  for 
itself  stores  of  hatred  and  outcastry  and  scorn  which  the  ages  shall 
hardly  efface. 

And  Germany  once  was  great,  and  might  have  been  greater. 
Delenda  est  Germania!  -so  far  as  Germania  represents  the  Devil 
and  all  his  works. 

The  following  lines  were  written  fourteen  years  ago  when  we  wel- 
comed the  end  of  the  Boer  War.  We  are  all  grateful  that  the  hope 
therein  expressed  has  been  so  amply  fulfilled.  That  it  has  been  so 
is  largely  due  to  the  wisdom  and  statesmanship  of  Louis  Botha. 

No  matter  now  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  it; 

You  fought  us  bravely  and  we  fought  you  fair. 

The  fight  is  done.  Cirip  hands!  No  malice  bear! 

We  greet  you,  brothers,  to  the  nobler  strife 
Of  building  up  the  newer,  larger  life! 

Join  hands!  Join  hands!  Ye  nations  of  the  stock! 

And  make  henceforth  a mighty  Trust  for  Peace; — 

A great  enduring  peace  that  shall  withstand 
The  shocks  of  time  and  circumstance;  and  every  land 
Shall  rise  and  bless  you  -and  shall  never  cease 
To  bless  you — for  that  glorious  gift  of  Peace. 

Germany,  if  she  had  so  willed,  could  have  come  into  that  hoped- 
for  Trust  for  Peace. 

But  Germany  would  not.  She  put  her  own  selfish  interests  before 
all  else  and  so  digs  her  own  grave. 

JOHN  OXENHAM. 


236 


BorilA  TO  BIOIAIN 

I have  carried  out  everything  in  accordance  with  our  ccmiuact  at  V'ereeniging.” 


237 


Belgium  in  Holland 

IN  THE  present  crisis  of  Belgian  affairs  there  is  much  to  remind 
the  historical  student  of  the  events  which  led  to  the  fall  of  Ant- 
werp in  1585,  and  the  outrageous  invasion  of  the  Southern 
Netherlands  by  the  army  of  Parma.  Then,  as  now,  Holland  opened 
her  arms  to  her  wounded  and  captive  sister.  The  best  Flemish 
scholars  and  men  of  letters  emigrated  to  the  land  where  Cornheert 
and  Spieghel  welcomed  them. 

Merchants  and  artisans  flocked  to  a new  sphere  of  energy  in 
Amsterdam.  Several  of  the  professorial  chairs  in  that  city,  and  in 
the  great  universities  of  Leyden  and  Hardcrwijk,  were  filled  by  learned 
Flemings,  and  the  arts,  that  had  long  been  flourishing  in  Brussels,  fled 
northward  to  escape  from  the  desolating  Spanish  scourge.  The  grim 
pencil  of  Raemaekers  becomes  tender  whenever  he  touches  upon  the 
relation  of  the  tortured  Belgium  to  her  sister,  Holland,  his  own  beloved 
fatherland. 

We  do  not  know  yet,  in  this  country,  a tithe  of  the  sacrifices 
which  have  been  made  in  Holland  to  staunch  the  tears  of  Belgium. 
“Your  sufferings  are  mine,  and  so  are  your  fortunes,”  has  been  the 
motto  of  the  loyal  Dutch. 

EDMUND  GOSSE. 


238 


.. 

THE  PROMISE 

“We  shall  never  sheath  the  swurd  until  Belgium  recovers  all,  and  more  than  all  that 
she  has  sacrificed.” — Mr.  Asquith,  yth  November,  1914. 


239 


Serbia 

The  fight  of  the  one  and  the  four  might,  in  view  of  the  difference 
in  the  size  of  the  combatants,  be  called  quite  fairly  “the  fight 
of  the  one  and  the  fifty-three.”  Each  of  the  assailants  has 
his  own  character.  Germany  is  represented  as  a ferocious  giant; 
Austria  follows  Prussia’s  lead,  a little  the  worse  for  wear,  with  a band- 
aged head  as  the  souvenir  of  his  former  campaign : he  does  his  best  to 
look  and  act  like  Germany.  Bulgaria  loses  not  a moment,  but  puts  his 
rifle  to  his  shoulder  to  shoot  the  small  enemy:  he  acts  in  his  own  way, 
according  to  his  own  character:  kill  the  enemy  as  quickly  as  possible 
and  seize  the  spoil,  that  is  his  principle.  Turkey  is  a rather  broken- 
down  and  dilapidated  figure,  who  is  preparing  to  use  his  bayonet, 
but  has  not  got  it  quite  ready.  Serbia,  erect,  with  feet  firmly  planted, 
stands  facing  the  chief  enemy,  a little  David  against  this  big  Goliath 
and  his  henchman,  Austria;  and  the  other  two,  so  recently  deadly  foes, 
now  standing  shoulder  to  shoulder,  attack  him  while  his  attention  is 
directed  on  Germany. 

The  leader  and  “hero”  of  this  assault  is  Prussia,  big,  brutal, 
remorseless.  The  Dutch  artist  always  concentrates  the  spectator’s 
attention  on  him.  You  can  almost  hear  the  roar  coming  out  of  his 
mouth:  “Gott  strafe  Serbien.”  This  is  the  figure,  as  Raemaekers 
paints  him,  that  goes  straight  for  his  object,  regardless  of  moral  con- 
siderations. Serbia  is  in  his  way,  and  Serbia  must  be  trampled  in  the 
mire.  The  artist’s  sympathy  is  wholly  with  Serbia,  who  is  pictured 
as  the  man  fighting  against  the  brute,  slight  but  active  and  noble  in 
build,  facing  this  burly  foe. 

And  poor  old  Turkey!  Always  a figure  of  comedy,  never  ready  in 
time,  always  ineffective,  never  fully  able  to  use  the  weapons  of  so- 
called  “civilization.”  Let  it  always  be  remembered  that  in  the  Gal- 
lipoli peninsula,  when  the  Turks  at  first  were  taking  no  prisoners, 
but  killing  the  wounded  after  their  own  familiar  fashion  with  mutila- 
tion, for  the  sake  of  such  spoil  as  could  be  carried  away,  Enver  Pasha 
issued  an  order  that  thirty  piastres  should  be  paid  for  every  prisoner 
brought  in  alive,  a noble  and  humane  regulation.  Let  us  hope  that 
the  reward  was  always  paid,  not  stolen  on  the  way,  as  has  been  so 
(tften  the  case  in  Turkey. 

WILLIAM  MITCHELL  RAMSAY. 


240 


SERBIA 

“ Now  we  can  make  an  end  of  him.” 


241 


Jackals  in  the  Political  Field 

WHEN  the  tiger,”  says  the  naturalist,  “has  killed  some  large 
animal,  such  as  a bul'falo  which  he  cannot  consume  at  one 
time,  the  jackals  collect  round  the  carcase  at  a respectful 
distance  and  wait  patiently  until  the  tiger  moves  off.  Then  they  rush 
from  all  directions,  carousing  upon  the  slaughtered  buffalo,  each 
anxious  to  eat  as  much  as  it  can  contain  in  the  shortest  time.” 

The  human  jackal  is  one  of  the  most  squalid  and  sordid  creatures 
and  features  of  war.  We  saw  him  in  Dublin  the  other  day  emerging 
from  his  slum  den  to  loot  Sackville  Street.  Every  battlefield  feeds  its 
carrion  beasts  and  birds. 

This  picture  of  Belgium  and  its  jackals  is  doubtless  only  too  true. 
Mr.  Raemakers  and  the  Dutch  have  better  means  of  knowing  than  we. 
The  jackal,  says  the  same  naturalist,  belongs  to  the  Canidx,  the 
“dog  tribe.”  The  scientific  name  of  the  true  dog  is  Canis  familiaris, 
“the  household  dog.”  The  jackal  is  Canis  aureus,  the  “gold  dog.” 
The  epithet  describes  no  doubt  his  colour.  The  human  Canis  aureus 
perhaps  deserves  his  title  on  not  less  obvious  grounds. 

“The  continent  of  Euroiie,”  the  naturalist  goes  on,  “is  free  from 
the  jackal.”  It  was  supposed  till  yesterday  to  be  free  from  the  lion 
and  tiger. 

But  in  the  prehistoric  times  of  the  cave  man,  geologists  say,  there 
was  both  in  England  and  Europe  the  great  “sabre-tooth”  tiger. 
Kipling,  who  knows  everything  about  beasts,  knows  him  and  puts 
him  into  his  “Story  of  Ung”:  “The  sabre-tooth  tiger  dragging  a 

man  to  his  lair.” 

To-day  the  cave  tiger  has  come  back  and  with  him  the  cave 
jackal.  There  is  a terrible  beauty  about  the  tiger.  The  jackal  is  a 
mean  and  hideous  brute.  But  both  are  out  of  date.  Did  not  Mon- 
sieur Capus  say  the  other  day  that  Europe  “cannot  allow  a return  of 
the  cave  epoch?” 

HERBERT  WARREN. 


242 


_DeLit9ch!sn 

ube- AHes 


. '^-■^^rll  P r>  - n e r 


JACKALS  IN  THE  POUTICAL  FIELD 
Jackals  {Flemish  Pro-Germavs):  “What  he  leaves  of  Belgium  will  be  enough  for  us.” 


213 


A Letter  from  the  German 

Trenches 

IN  THIS  cartoon  Raemaekers  has  contrived  to  indicate  powerfully 
what  is  after  all  the  dominant  and  peculiar  note  of  the  German 
people.  No  Eiiroi)ean  nation  has  ever  taken  war — as  people  say 
— so  “seriously,”  that  is,  with  so  much  concentration  of  attention  and 
elal)orate  preparation,  as  has  the  German  Empire.  No  people  has  ever 
had  it  so  thoroughly  drilled  into  its  collective  mind  as  have  the  German 
subjects  of  that  Imipire  that  war  is  not  only,  as  all  Christian  people 
have  always  believed,  an  expedient  lawful  and  necessary  upon  oc- 
casion, bill  a thing  highly  desirable  in  itself,  nay,  the  principal  function 
of  a “superior”  race  and  the  main  end  of  its  being. 

And  yet  after  all  the  actual  German  is  never,  like  the  Frenchman, 
a natural  and  instinctive  warrior — any  more  than  he  is,  like  the 
Englishman,  a natural  and  instinctive  adventurer.  The  whole  busi- 
ness of  Prussian  militarism,  with  the  half-witted  philosophy  by  which 
it  is  justified,  has  to  be  imposed  upon  him  from  without  by  his  masters. 
He  lights  just  as  he  works,  just  as  he  tortures,  violates,  and  murders, 
because  he  is  told  to  do  so  by  iiersons  in  a superior  position,  holding 
themselves  stillly,  dressed  in  uniform,  and  able  to  hit  him  in  the  face 
with  a whip. 

Long  before  the  war  the  absurd  Koepenick  incident  gave  us  a 
glimpse  of  this  astonishing  docility  on  its  farcical  side.  Its  tragic 
side  is  well  illuslrated  by  the  droves  of  helpless  and  inarticulate  bar- 
barians driven  into  the  shambles  daily  (as  at  Verdun)  for  the  sole 
jiurpose  of  covering  up  the  blunders  of  their  very  “efficient”  superiors. 
One  could  pity  the  wretches  if  there  were  not  so  considerable  a leaven 
of  wickedness  in  their  stupidity. 


244 


CECIL  CHESTERTON. 


A l.ETTFR  FROM  11  IE  GERMAN  TRENCHES 
“ We  have  gained  a good  bit;  our  cemeteries  now  extend  as  far  as  the  sea.” 


215 


His  Master’s  Voice 


HE  manipulation  of  the  Press  is  one  of  the  weapons  which 


Bismarck  taught  German  Imperialism  to  use.  Like  others  it 


has  been  developed  by  his  successors  into  an  instrument  which 
the  master  himself  would  hardly  have  recognized.  It  is  one  of  the 
most  potent  means  of  that  “peiiceful  penetration”  of  all  other  coun- 
tries which  was  nothing  but  a preparation  for  war.  And  it  has  been 
used  in  the  war  with  a purposefulness  of  aim  and  a versatility  of  method 
that  betoken  long  and  systematic  study.  It  is  a ubiquitous  intluence 
and  the  most  subtle  of  all.  Yet  the  Press  is  held  in  greater  contempt 
by  official  and  other  ruling  circles  in  Germany  than  in  any  other 
country.  They  desiuse  the  tool,  while  tacitly  acknowledging  its  utility 
by  unsparing  use. 

This  curious  state  of  things  is  the  fault  of  the  Press.  What  has 
rendered  it  such  a pliant  tool  in  the  hands  of  Cicrman  Imperialism 
is  either  credulity  or  venality;  and  both  are  contemptible  qualities. 
Gredulity  is  ])robably  the  more  prevalent,  at  least  in  this  country, 
where  shoals  of  newspapers,  blinded  by  their  own  prejudices,  were  the 
dupes  of  German  duplicity.  But  there  has  been  venality,  too,  both 
crude  and  subtle.  The  case  of  the  “Vlaamsche  Sten,”  here  satirized 
by  Raemaekers,  is  exceptional.  So  crude  and  gross  a method  of 
influencing  the  Press  as  bribing  the  proprietor  of  a newspaper  (prob- 
ably with  the  aid  of  threats)  to  hand  it  over  with  its  staff  and  good- 
will could  hardly  be  practised  where  any  independence  survived.  It 
was  not  practised  with  success  even  in  conquered  Flanders,  for  the 
staff,  to  their  eternal  credit,  refused  to  listen  to  the  new  master’s 
voice.  But  there  arc  journalists  who,  less  intelligent  than  the  terrier, 
faithfully  accept  the  voice  from  the  Pickelhauhe  and  wag  their  little 
tails  when  they  hear  it.  To  them  is  offered  the  parable  which  shows 
their  relation  to  their  master. 


A.  SHAD  WELL. 


246 


Ills  MASTER’S  VOICE 

The  I'laamsche  Stem  (Elemish  Voice),  a Flemish  paper,  was  bought  by  the  Germans, 
whereupon  the  whole  staff  resigned,  as  it  no  longer  represented  its  title. 


217 


Hun  Generosity 

The  All-Highest,  so  we  are  told,  loves  a joke  at  another’s  expense, 
a trait  in  his  character  essentially  barbaric.  Raemaekers 
reproduces  the  twinkle  in  the  Imperial  eye  as  William  of 
Potsdam  offers  to  a quondam  ally  the  foot  which  l)elongs  to  his  senile 
and  helpless  brother  of  Hapsburg.  The  roar  of  anguish  from  the 
prostrate  octogenarian  provokes,  as  we  see,  not  pity  l)ut  a grim  smile. 
Italy’s  monarch,  we  may  imagine,  is  muttering  to  himself: — 

Tiineo  Danaos  el  dona  Jerentes. 

The  bril)e,  wrenched  from  another,  was,  of  course,  indignantly  re- 
jected, l)ut  one  wonders  what  the  secret  feelings  of  the  Hapsburgs 
may  be  toward  the  Hohenzollerns.  We  know  that  the  Turk  cherishes 
no  love  for  the  Hun  who  has  beguiled  him,  but  we  cannot  gauge  as  yet 
the  real  strength  or  weakness  of  the  bond  between  the  Huns  on  the  one 
hand  and  the  Austrians  and  Hungarians  on  the  other.  Raemaekers 
has  portrayed  Franz  .losef  ilat  on  his  l)ack.  In  the  language  of  the 
ring  he  is  “down  and  out."  Possibly  it  may  have  been  so  from  the 
l)eginning.  At  any  rate,  in  this  country,  there  is  an  amiable  dis- 
position to  regard  Franz  .losef  as  a victim  rather  than  an  accomplice, 
a weakling  writhing  beneath  the  jack-l)oot  of  Prussia,  impotent  to 
hold  his  own.  It  may  not  be  so.  Time  alone  will  reveal  the  truth. 

But  this  much  is  reasonably  certain.  When  peace  is  declared,  the 
sincere  friendship  which  once  existed  between  ourselves  and  the  Dual 
Monarchy  may  be  reestal)lished,  l)ut  many  years  must  pass  before  we  for- 
give or  forget  the  Huns.  They  are  boasting  to-day  that  as  a nation  they 
are  self-sufficing  and  self-supporting.  Amen ! Most  of  us  desire  nothing 
better  than  to  leave  them  alone  till  they  have  mended  their  manners 
and  purged  themselves  of  a colossal  and  unendural)le  conceit.  I 
cannot  envisage  Huns  playing  tennis  at  Wimbledon,  or  English  girls 
studying  music  at  Leipzig.  The  grass  in  the  streets  of  Homburg  will 
not,  for  many  years,  be  trodden  out  by  English  feet;  the  harpies  of 
hotel  keepers  throughout  the  Happy  Fatherland  will  prey,  it  may  be 
presumed,  upon  their  fellow  LIuns.  Then  they  will  fall  to  “strafing” 
each  other  instead  of  England.  And  then,  as  now,  their  mouthings 
will  provoke  inextinguishable  laughter. 

HORACE  ANNESLEY  VACHELL. 


248 


“HAVE  ANOTHER  PIECE? 


24?) 


Easter,  1915 


VER  since  with  the  beginning  of  Christendom  a new  soul 


entered  the  body  of  exhausted  Europe,  it  is  true  to  say  that  we 


have  not  only  had  a certain  idea  but  been  haunted  by  it,  as  by 
a ghost.  It  is  the  idea  crystallized  in  legends  like  those  of  St.  Chris- 
topher and  St.  Martin.  But  it  is  equally  apparent  in  the  most  modern 
ethics  and  eloquence,  as,  for  instance,  when  a French  atheist  orator 
urged  the  reconsideration  of  a criminal  case  by  pointing  at  the  pic- 
tured Crucifixion  which  hangs  in  a French  Law  Court  and  saying: 
“Voila  la  chose  jugee.”  It  is  the  idea  when  that  oppressing  the 
lowest  we  may  actually  l)c  oppressing  the  highest,  and  that  not  even 
impersonally,  but  personally.  We  may  be,  as  it  were,  the  victims  of  a 
divine  mascjiierade;  and  discover  that  the  greatest  of  kings  can  travel 
incognito. 

Such  a picture,  therefore,  as  the  cartoonist  has  drawn  here  can  be 
found  in  all  ages  of  Christian  history  as  a comment  on  contemporary 
oppression.  But  while  the  central  figure  remains  always  the  same,  the 
types  of  the  tyrant  and  the  mocker  hold  our  temporary  attention;  for 
they  are  sketched  from  life  and  with  a living  exactitude.  LTpon  one  of 
them  especially  it  would  be  easy  to  say  a great  deal;  the  grinning 
Prussian  youth  with  the  spectacles  and  the  monkey  face,  who  is  using 
a Prussian  helmet  instead  of  the  crown  of  thorns. 

Such  a scientitic  gutter-snipe  is  the  real  and  visible  fruit  of  or- 
ganized German  education;  he  is  a much  truer  type  than  any  gory 
and  hairy  Ilun.  In  the  face  of  that  young  atheist  there  is  everything 
that  can  come  from  the  congestion  of  the  pagan  with  the  parvenu;  all 
the  knowingness  that  is  the  cessation  of  knowledge;  and  that  something 
which  always  accompanies  real  atheism — arrested  development. 


G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


EASTER,  1915 

"And  they  bowed  the  knee  before  Him.” 


251 


Pan  Germanicus  as  Peace  Maker 

1MA(iINE  Ihe  feelings  of  the  hindlegs  of  a stage  elephant  on  being 
told  that  the  performance  is  to  be  a continuous  one  and  you  will 
have  some  inkling  of  the  dismay  of  the  Kaiser  and  his  henchman, 
concealed  in  the  plumage  of  the  Whir  Eagle  and  the  Dove  of  Peace 
respectively.  The  one  bird  is  as  useless  as  the  other  in  bringing  the 
war  to  the  end  desired  in  Berlin.  The  stage  eagle  is  daily  losing  its 
plumage,  and  is  rapidly  becoming  but  a moulty  apology  for  the 
king  of  birds.  As  for  the  dove,  it  has  been  used  so  often,  with  con- 
stantly changing  olive  branch  in  its  beak,  that  it  now  makes  its  ap- 
pearance shamefacedly  and  absolutely  without  heart. 

Imperial  eagle  mask  with  half-mad  military"  quasi-deity  inside  and 
dove  of  peace,  on  the  German  model,  with  calculating  miscalculating 
statesman,  you  rang  the  curtain  up,  you  cannot  ring  it  down,  either 
to  the  music  of  the  Hymn  of  Hate  or  the  Te  Deum  for  peace — the 
eagle  can  no  longer  look  boldly  straight  into  the  sun,  looking  for  his 
place  in  it;  the  dove  has  taken  permanent  quarters  in  the  German  ark 
as  it  whirls  round  and  round  in  the  whirlpool  of  impotent  effort,  ever 
drawing  nearer  to  the  final  crash.  When  the  Dove  of  Peace  does  come, 
it  will  be  a real  bird  of  good  omen,  not  a German  reserve  officer  mas- 
([uerading  as  one. 

ALFRED  STEAD. 


252 


PAN  GERMANICUS  AS  PEACE  MAKER 

I HE  I)ove:  “They  say  they  do  not  want  peace,  as  they  have  time  enough. 
I HE  Eagle:  “Alas!  That  is  just  what  we  haven’t  got.” 


253 


Gott  Mit  Uns 

This  piclurc  is  a perfectly  accurate  symbolic  study  of  the  Ger- 
man Empire.  Therefore,  naturally,  it  is  one  of  the  most 
dreadful  that  were  ever  drawn.  In  all  the  gruesome  “Dances 
of  Death”  in  which  the  fifteenth  century  took  so  grim  a pleasure,  no 
artist  ever  conceived  the  horrible  idea  of  a fat  skeleton.  But  we  have 
not  only  conceived  the  thought,  we  have  seen  the  thing — “a  terror  in 
the  sunshine.”  We  know  that  chest,  iiuffed  up  with  a wind  of  pride, 
and  that  stomach  heavy  with  slaughter  and  rich  living;  and  above 
them  the  Death's  Head.  We  have  seen  it.  We  have  felt  its  foul 
breath.  Its  name  is  Prussia. 

Look  at  a portrait  of  Frederick  the  Great,  the  “onlie  true  beget- 
ter” of  this  abortion.  1 1 oddly  suggests  what  Raemaekers  has  set  down 
here:  the  face  a skull,  the  staring  eyes  those  of  a lost  soul.  But  the 
skeleton  has  grown  fat  since  Frederick’s  day — fat  on  the  blood  and 
plunder  of  nations.  Only  there  is  no  living  flesh  on  its  bones,  nothing 
of  humanity  about  it. 

“Gan  these  dry  bones  live?”  was  the  question  asked  of  the 
prophet.  It  might  have  been  asked  of  Frederick:  “Can  this  nation 

live,  created  of  your  foul  witchcraft,  without  honour,  without  charity, 
without  human  brotherhood  or  fellowship,  without  all  that  which  is 
the  flesh  and  blood  of  mankind?”  The  answer  must  have  been  that 
it  could  live,  though  with  a life  coming  from  below  and  essentially 
infernal.  It  could  live — for  a time.  It  could  even  have  great  power 
because  its  time  was  short. 

But  now  it  has  waxed  fat — and  kicked.  And  its  end  is  near. 

CECIL  CHESTERTON. 


254 


T^u  1 m ae  S ‘ 


IT’S  FATTENING  WORK 


255 


Our  Lady  of  Antwerp 


ERK  I and  sorrows  sit.  This  is  my  throne,  bid  Kings  come 


worship  it.”  Such  seems  to  be  an  appropriate  legend  for 


Raemaekers'  l)eautiful  triptych  which  he  has  entitled  “Our 
Lady  of  Antwerp.”  Full  of  compassion  and  sympathy  for  all  the 
sufferings  of  her  people,  she  sits  with  the  Cathedral  outlined  behind 
her,  her  heart  pierced  with  many  agonies.  On  the  left  is  one  of  the 
many  widows  who  have  lost  their  all  in  this  war.  On  the  right  is  a 
soldier  stricken  to  death,  who  has  done  his  utmost  service  for  his 
country  and  brings  the  record  of  his  gallantry  to  the  feet  of  Our  Lady 
of  Antwerp. 

Antwerp,  as  we  know,  was  at  the  height  of  its  prosperity  in  the 
sixteenth  century.  We  have  been  told  that  no  fewer  than  five  hun- 
dred ships  used  to  enter  her  port  in  the  course  of  a day,  while  more  than 
two  thousand  could  be  seen  lying  in  her  harbour  at  one  time.  Her 
people  numbered  as  many  as  one  million,  her  fairs  attracted  merchants 
from  all  parts  of  Europe,  and  at  least  live  hundred  million  guilders 
were  put  into  circulation  every  year.  We  know  what  followed. 
Rs  very  prosperity  proved  a bait  to  the  concjiieror.  In  1576  the  city 
was  captured  by  the  Spaniards,  who  pillaged  it  for  three  days.  Nine 
years  later  the  Duke  of  Parma  conquered  it,  and  about  the  time  when 
Queen  hdizabeth  was  resisting  the  might  of  Spain  Antwerp’s  glory 
had  departed  and  its  trade  was  ruined.  At  the  close  of  the  Napoleonic 
wars  the  city  was  handed  over  to  the  Belgians. 

A place  of  many  memories,  whose  geographical  position  was  well 
calculated  to  arouse  the  cuj)idity  of  the  Germans,  was  bound  to  be  gal- 
lantly defended  by  the  little  nation  to  which  it  now  belonged.  Whether 
earlier  help  by  the  British  might  or  might  not  have  altered  the  course 
of  history  we  cannot  tell.  Perhaps  it  was  not  soon  enough  realized 
how  important  it  was  to  keep  the  Him  invader  from  the  sacred  soil. 
At  all  events  we  do  not  look  back  on  the  British  Expedition  in  aid  of 
Antwerp  in  1911  with  any  satisfaction,  because  the  assistance  rendered 
was  either  not  ample  enough  or  else  it  was  belated,  or  both.  So  that 
Our  l.ady  of  Antwerp  has  still  to  bewail  the  ruthless  tyranny  of  Berlin, 
though  perhaps  she  looks  forward  to  the  time  when,  once  more  in 
possession  of  her  own  cities,  Belgium  may  enter  upon  a new  course  of 
prosperity.  We  are  pledged  to  restore  Belgium,  doubly  and  trebly 
pledged,  by  the  words  of  the  Prime  Minister,  and  justice  will  not  be 
done  until  the  great  act  of  liberation  is  accomplished. 


W.  L.  COURTNEY. 


256 


OUR  LADY  OF  ANTWERP 


257 


Deportation 

Nothing,  when  one  analyzes  it,  could  be  imagined  more  thor- 
oughly characteristic  of  Prussia  than  the  particular  stroke  of 
policy  by  which  a large  proportion  of  the  male  population  of 
Belgium — as  also  in  a somewhat  lesser  degree  of  Northern  France — 
was  separated  from  its  family  ties  and  hurried  away  into  exile  in 
Germany,  there  to  be  compelled  to  work  for  the  profit  of  enemies. 

It  had  all  the  marks  of  Prussianism. 

Firstly,  it  was  a violation  of  the  civilized  and  Christian  tradition  of 
European  arms.  By  the  rules  of  such  warfare  the  non-combatant 
was  spared,  wherever  possible;  not  only  his  life  but  his  property  and 
liberty  were  secure  so  long  as  he  did  not  abuse  his  position. 

Secondly,  it  was  an  affront  to  decent  human  sentiment  quite 
apart  from  technical  rules;  the  man,  guilty  of  no  offence  save  that  of 
belonging  to  a country  which  Prussia  had  invaded  without  justice 
and  ravaged  without  mercy,  was  torn  from  his  family,  who  were  left 
to  the  mercy  of  their  opi)oncnts.  We  all  know  what  that  mercy  was 
like. 

Thirdly,  it  was  an  insult  to  the  human  soul,  for  the  unfortunate 
victims  were  not  only  to  be  exiled  from  their  country,  but  to  be  driven 
by  force  and  terror  to  serve  against  it. 

Fourthly,  and  finally,  like  all  the  worst  Prussian  crimes,  it  was  a 
stiqiid  blunder.  Prussia  has  paid  already  a very  high  price  for  any 
advantage  she  may  have  gained  from  the  mutinous  and  unwilling 
labour  of  these  men,  and  for  the  swelling  of  her  official  return  for  the 
edification  of  her  own  people  and  of  neutrals  by  the  inclusion  of  “pris- 
oners of  war”  of  this  description.  To-day,  when  she  knows  not  where 
to  turn  for  men,  she  is  obliged  to  keep  a huge  garrison  tied  up  in 
Belgium  to  guard  her  line  of  retreat.  And  when  the  retreat  itself 
comes,  the  price  will  rise  even  higher,  and  the  nemesis  will  be  both  just 
and  terrible. 


CECIL  CHESTERTON. 


—J — ’ OU  ^ 

1IUSBAN13S  AND  FATHERS 
Belgian  workmen  were  forcibly  deported  to  Germany. 


259 


The  German  Band 

The  German  Band,  as  we  know  it  in  this  country,  has  never 
been  noted  for  harmonious  music.  Blatancy,  stridency,  false 
notes,  and  persistency  after  the  coppers,  have  been  its  chief 
characteristics. 

And  the  same  tliini^s  prevail  when  it  is  at  home. 

Never  since  the  world  l)egan  has  there  been  such  a campaign  of 
barefaced  humbug  and  lying  as  that  organized  by  William,  Hinden- 
burg,  Ilollweg  and  Co.  for  the  deceiving  and  fleecing  of  the  much-tried 
countries  temporarily  under  their  sway. 

But  the  money  had  to  be  got  in  by  hook  or  by  crook,  and  by  hook 
and  by  crook  and  in  every  nefarious  way  they  have  milked  their  unfor- 
tunate peoples  dry. 

But  there  is  another  side  to  all  this.  In  time,  the  veil  of  lies  and 
false  intelligence  of  victories  in  the  North  Sea,  and  at  Verdun,  and, 
indeed,  wherever  Germany  has  fought  and  failed,  will  be  rent  by  the 
spear  of  Truth. 

'riien  will  come  the  debacle.  And  then,  unless  every  scrap  of  grit 
and  backbone  has  been  Prussianized  out  of  the  Teuton,  the  revulsion 
of  feeling  will  sweep  the  oppressors  out  of  existence;  and  Germany, 
released  from  the  strangle-hold,  may  rise  once  more  to  take  the  place 
among  the  civilized  nations  of  the  world  which,  by  her  foul  doings  of 
the  last  two  years,  she  has  deliberately  forfeited. 

JOHN  OXENHAM. 


260 


WAR  LOAN  MUSIC 

‘A\’as  hlazen  die  I rompeten  Moneten  heraus  ? ” 


I 


261 


Arcades  Ambo 

Looking  at  this  cartoon  one  can  understand  why  Raemaekers 
is  not  persona  grata  in  the  Happy  Fatherland.  With  half  a 
^ dozen  touches  he  has  changed  Satan  from  the  magnificent 
Prince  of  Evil  whom  Gustave  Dore  portrayed  into  a — Ilun.  Hence- 
forth we  shall  envisage  Satan  as  a Hun,  talking  the  obscene  tongue — 
now  almost  the  universal  language  in  Hades — and  hailed  by  right- 
thinking  Huns  as  the  All  tlighest  War  Lord.  Willy  senior  must  be 
jealous. 

With  the  learned  Professor,  the  cartoonist  not  only  produces  a 
composite  portrait  of  all  the  llerren  Professoren,  but  also  drives  home 
the  point  of  his  amazing  pencil  into  what  is  perhaps  the  most  instruc- 
tive lesson  of  this  monstrous  war  the  perversion  to  evil  uses  of  powers 
originally  designed,  nourished,  and  expanded  to  benefit  mankind. 
When  the  Furor  Teuloniciis  has  finally  expended  itself,  we  do  not  envy 
the  feelings  of  the  illustrious  chemists  who  perfected  poison  gas  and 
liquid  lire!  Will  they,  when  their  hour  comes,  find  it  easy  to  obey  the 
poet’s  injunction,  and,  wrapping  the  mantle  of  their  past  about  them, 
“lie  down  to  pleasant  dreams?” 

We  are  assured  that  these  professors  have  not  exhausted  their 
powers  of  frightfulness.  It  may  be  so.  This  is  certain ; Such  fright- 
fulness will  ultimately  exhaust  them.  With  this  reflection,  we  may 
leave  them,  grist  to  be  ground  by  the  mills  of  God. 

HORACE  ANNESLEY  VACHELL. 


262 


ARCADES  AM  BO 

The  Professor:  “I  have  discovered  a new  mixture  which  will  blind  them  in 
half  an  hour.” 

Satan:  “You  are  in  very  truth  my  master.” 


263 


Ts  It  You,  Mother?^^ 

SINCE  the  opening  of  hostilities  in  the  present  war  the  Scottish 
regiments  have  given  repeated  proofs  of  a valour  which  adds 
new  lustre  to  the  great  traditions  of  Scottish  soldiership. 
Through  all  the  early  operations — on  the  retreat  from  Mons  and  at  the 
battles  of  the  Marne  and  the  Aisne — the  Royal  Scots  Guards,  the 
Scots  Greys,  the  Gordon,  the  Seaforth  and  the  Argyll  and  Sutherland 
Highlanders,  the  King’s  Own  Scottish  Borderers  gained  many  fresh 
laurels  by  their  heroism  and  undaunted  spirit.  The  London  Scottish 
Territorials,  too,  have  shown  a prowess  as  signal  as  that  of  the  Scots 
of  the  Regular  Army;  while  the  mettle  of  men  of  Scottish  descent  has 
made  glorious  contribution  in  France  and  elsewhere  to  the  fine  records 
of  the  Overseas  armies. 

It  is  the  inevitable  corollary  that  death  should  levy  a heavy  toll  on 
Scottish  soldiers  in  the  held.  Thousands  of  kilted  youth  have  suf- 
fered the  fate  which  Raemaekers  depicts  in  the  accompanying  cartoon. 
It  is  not,  of  course,  only  the  young  Scot  whose  thought  turns  in  the 
moment  of  death  to  the  hearth  of  his  home  with  vivid  memories  of  his 
mother.  But  the  word  “home”  and  all  that  the  word  connotes  often 
makes  a more  urgent  appeal  to  the  Scot  abroad  than  to  the  man  of 
another  nationality.  There  is  significance  in  the  fact  that,  far  as  the 
Scots  are  wont  to  wander  over  the  world’s  surface,  they  should,  under 
every  sky  and  in  every  turning  fortune,  treasure  as  a national  anthem 
the  song  which  has  the  refrain: 

“For  it’s  hame,  an’  it’s  hame,  fain  wad  I be, 

0!  it’s  hame,  hame,  hame,  to  my  ain  countrie!” 

The  German  soldier  in  this  war  would  seem  to  have  lost  well  nigh 
all  touch  of  humanity.  Yet  the  draughtsman  here  suggests  that  even 
the  German  soldier  on  occasion  yields  to  the  pathos  of  the  young  Scot’s 
death-cry  for  home  and  mother.  There  is  grim  irony  in  the  dying 
man’s  blurred  vision  which  mistakes  the  hand  of  his  mortal  foe  for 
that  of  his  mother. 

Of  such  trying  scenes  is  the  drama  of  war  composed. 

SIDNEY  LEE. 


261 


“IS  IT  VCU,  MOTHER?’’ 


26f) 


The  Fate  of  Flemish  Art  at  the 
Flands  of  Kultur 

IT  WILL  not  1)0  possible  lo  estimate  the  injury  suffered  by  the 
monuments  of  art  wherein  Belgium  was  so  rich  till  the  war  is 
ended  and  the  ruins  examined.  Much  of  the  irreparable  loss 
we  know,  as  in  the  cases  of  Louvain  and  Ypres.  In  general  we  may 
fairly  eonjecture  that  whatever  is  portable  behind  the  German  lines 
is  stolen,  or  will  be,  and  the  rest  destroyed.  What  is  portable  is  stolen 
for  its  cash  value,  just  as  are  money,  furniture,  clothes,  and  watches. 
So  much  of  resi)ect  for  works  of  art  we  may  expect  from  the  Prussians 
— the  measure  of  respect  for  the  cash  shewn  by  the  Prussian  general 
at  Termonde  who  robbed  a helpless  civilian  of  the  5,000  francs  he  had 
drawn  to  pay  his  workmen’s  wages,  and  then  called  earth  and  heaven 
to  witness  his  exalted  virtue  in  not  also  murdering  his  victim.  But 
what  cannot  be  carried  a cathedral,  a monument,  an  ancient  window 
— that  is  destroyed  with  an  apish  zest.  Even  a picture  in  time  or 
place,  inconvenient  for  removal,  that  also  will  be  defiled,  .slashed  to 
rags,  burnt.  And  indeed  why  not?  For  the  best  use  of  a work  of  art 
as  understood  among  the  Prussian  pundits  is  to  make  it  the  peg  where- 
on to  hang  some  ridiculous  l)reach  of  statistics,  some  monstrous 
dis(iuisition  of  bedevilled  theory;  and  for  such  purposes  a work  no 
longer  existing  so  as  good  as  any — even  better. 

And  so  the  marvels  of  the  centuries  go  up  in  dust  and  flames, 
and  the  memorials  of  Memling  and  Matsijs,  Van  Eyck,  and  Rubens 
are  treated  as  the  masters’  own  bodies  would  have  been  treated,  had 
fate  delayed  their  time  till  the  coming  of  the  Boche. 

ARTHUR  MORRISON. 


266 


I MF,  FA  TF  OF  FFFMISH  ART  A I'  rilF  HANDS  OF  KUI.  I UR 


267 


The  Graves  of  All  His  Hopes 

Look  at  the  map,”  says  the  German  Chancellor.  Look  at  the 
map,  and  mark  with  a cross  every  (lerman  disappointment 
and  you  will  have  a history  of  the  war  more  illuminating 
than  many  books  on  the  subject.  The  Marne,  Ypres,  South  Africa, 
West  Africa,  Egypt,  Bagdad,  India,  Tripoli,  Verdun.  Look  at  the 
map  indeed.  The  maj)  of  the  world  that  Germany  set  out  to  coiK[uer. 
Consider  the  vapouring  and  vainglory  that  marked  each  of  these 
“successes”  in  political  or  military  trickery  and  the  fact  that  of  the 
military  crosses  each  upbears  above  a mountain  of  losses  the  refrain 
of  the  old  German  song  Verdorben  (iestorben — Ruined — Dead. 

It  is  a wonderful  map  to  consider,  this  map  of  the  world  in  1916. 
A wonderful  map  to  be  studied  by  the  mothers  of  the  Fatherland  who 
have  suckled  their  children  to  manure  the  crops  of  the  future,  to  feed 
the  crematoriums  and  blast  furnaces  of  Belgium,  to  till  the  mad 
houses,  blind  asylums,  and  homes  for  incurables,  when  the  frosts 
of  Russia  and  the  guns  of  the  Allies  have  done  with  them. 

And  every  cross  marks  the  grave  of  a hope. 

Paris 

Regrets  eternels. 

That  wonderful  inscription  was  the  first  to  be  cut.  Galliene  was 
the  mason.  Verdun  was  the  last  and  will  not  be  the  least.  But,  what- 
ever may  come  to  l)e  written  on  stone,  on  the  heart  of  the  mourner 
when  he  comes  to  die  only  one  inscription  will  be  found;  “Calais.” 
If  he  has  a heart  large  enough  to  have  even  these  six  letters. 

H.  DE  VERE  STACPOOLE. 


268 


THE  GRAVES  OF  AM,  HIS  HOPES 


260 


"My  Sixth  Son  Is  Now  Lying 
Here — Where  Are  Yours?’’ 

There  is  a picture  in  Brussels  that  the  Kaiser  ought  to  study 
on  one  of  his  visits  to  the  Belgian  capital.  It  is  Wertz’s 
picture  of  Napoleon  in  Hades. 

Wertz  was  a madman,  he  knew  something  of  the  horrors  of  war, 
l)ut  he  knew,  also,  something  of  the  grandeur  and  nobility  of  Napoleon. 

Napoleon  is  surrounded  by  women  holding  up  the  mutilated 
remains  of  sons,  lovers,  and  fathers,  and  still  he  remains  Napoleon, 
the  child  of  Destiny,  the  Inscrutable,  the  Calm,  and,  if  one  may  say  so, 
the  Gentleman. 

Women  knew,  at  least,  that  their  dead  had  fallen  before  the  armies 
or  at  the  will  of  a great  man  in  those  Napoleonic  days;  there  was  some- 
thing of  Fate  in  the  business. 

But  to-day  the  widow  or  the  mourning  mother,  whilst  knowing 
that  her  son  or  her  husband  has  fallen  in  defending  Humanity  from 
the  Beast  can  find  no  quarter  in  their  hearts  for  the  form  or  the  shape 
of  manhood  that  stands,  in  the  words  of  Swinburne; 

“Curse  consecrated,  crowned  with  crime  and  flame!” 

No  taunt  could  be  too  bitter  for  their  lips  and  none  more  bitter 
than  the  words  of  Raemaekers: 

“My  sons  are  lying  here — where  are  yours?” 

H.  DE  VERE  STACPOOLE. 


270 


‘MY  SIXTH  SON  IS  NOW  LYING  I IFRF.--WI  IF.RK  ARF  YOURS?” 


271 


Bunkered 

The  Crown  Prince  is  in  a very  awkward  predicament.  He  has 
driven  his  ball  into  a deep  sand-pit  from  which  a very  clever 
professional  golfer  might  perhaps  extricate  himself  by  a power- 
ful stroke  with  a niblick.  But  young  William  is  not  a professional, 
and  indeed  knows  nothing  about  the  game.  So  he  takes  his  driver 
and  his  other  wooden  clubs,  and  smashes  them  all,  with  much  bad 
language,  while  he  whacks  at  the  ball,  which  only  buries  itself  deeper 
in  the  sand.  He  is  pondering  what  to  do  next.  There  is,  however, 
only  one  thing  to  do.  He  must  take  up  his  ball  and  lose  the  hole. 
The  real  players  on  his  side  must  be  disgusted  at  being  saddled  with 
such  a partner.  But  what  is  to  be  done  when  a fool  is  born  a war-lord 
by  right  of  primogeniture?  In  a few  years,  in  the  course  of  nature, 
this  fortunate  youth  will  be  the  Supreme  War-Lord  himself;  it  will 
be  his  business  to  “stand  in  shining  armour”  by  some  luckless  ally  who 
has  been  selected  to  pick  a quarrel  for  Germany’s  benefit,  and  to 
shake  a “mailed  list”  in  the  face  of  a trembling  world.  That  will  be  a 
spectacle  for  gods  and  men.  But  perhaps  something  will  happen 
instead. 


W.  R.  INGE. 


BUN  KF:  RED 


273 


Gott  Strafe  Verdun 


IMPARTIAL  military  verdict  on  the  German  strategy  and 


tactics  at  Verdun  has  not  yet  been  delivered.  After 


the  failure  of  the  Allies  to  break  through  last  year,  the  German 
higher  command  issued  a paper,  which  has  been  printed  in  American 
newspapers,  advocating  “nibbling”  taclies,  instead  of  attempts  to 
carry  a strongly  fortitied  line  by  a coup  de  main.  The  Germans  have 
buoyed  up  their  hopes  by  assuring  each  other  that  their  troops  have 
been  making  a slow  but  methodical  progress  toward  the  “fortress,” 
according  to  program.  But  even  if  we  grant  that  the  disproportion 
in  casualties  is  probably  not  so  great  as  some  of  our  critics  have  sup- 
posed, it  is  dillicult  to  believe  that  the  enemy  was  prepared  for  such 
resistance  as  he  has  met  with.  To  all  appearance,  the  Germans 
expected  to  break  through  in  a few  days,  and  hoped  that  this  success 
would  rehabilitate  the  credit  of  the  paltry  young  prince  whom  we 
here  see  entangled  in  barbed  wire,  his  uniform  in  rags,  and  despair 
depicted  on  his  haggard  face.  Another  confessed  failure  would 
finish  the  career  of  the  Crown  Prince;  and  yet  there  are  limits  to  the 
endurance  of  any  troops,  and  these  limits  have  now  been  reached. 
There  is  nothing  left  to  young  William  but  useless  imprecations.  He 
swaggered  into  this  war,  for  which  he  is  partly  resi)onsible,  expecting 
to  win  the  reputation  of  a general;  he  will  sneak  out  of  it  with  the 
reputation  of  a burglar. 


W.  R.  INGE. 


274 


* c 


GOTT  STRAFE  VERDUN 

If  only  I knew  whether  it  is  less  dangerous  to  advance  or  to  retire." 


o 


/d 


The  Last  Throw 

The  first  throw,  of  course,  was  that  great  rush  which  was 
stayed  at  the  Marne  by  the  Genius  of  Joffre;  then  there  was 
Ihe  throw  of  the  great  attack  on  Russia,  that  which  laid 
waste  Serbia,  and  that  which  would  have  thrust  men  down  from  the 
Alps  on  to  the  Italian  plain.  In  each  of  these  Raemaekers’  symbolism 
is  applicable,  for  in  each  case  death  threw  higher  than  either  Germany 
or  Austria  could  afford. 

But  in  none  is  the  symliolism  so  terribly  fitting  as  in  this  case  of 
Verdun,  where  the  lighting  men  went  forward  in  waves  and  died  in 
waves  here  death  threw  higher  in  every  attack  than  Germany  could 
throw,  and  to  such  licights  was  the  slaughter  pushed  that  it  was,  in 
truth,  the  last  throw  of  which  these  war-makers  were  capable.  It  is 
significant,  now  that  Germany  can  no  longer  afford  such  reckless 
sacrifices  as  were  made  before  Verdun,  that  the  German  press  con- 
tains allusions  to  heavy  sacrifices  on  the  part  of  the  Allies,  and  tries  to 
point  to  folly  in  allied  policy.  Surely,  in  the  matter  of  sacrifice  of 
life,  no  nation  is  so  well  qualified  to  speak  from  experience  as  Germany. 

There  is  clumsy  anxiety  expressed  in  every  line  of  the  figure  that 
holds  the  dice  box,  and  in  every  line  of  the  figure  in  the  background  is 
nervous  fear  for  the  result  of  the  throw — fear  that  is  fully  justified. 
But  Death,  master  of  the  game,  waits  complacently  to  mark  the 
score,  knowing  that  these  two  gamblers  are  the  losers — and  that  the 
loser  pays. 

E.  CHARLES  VIVIAN. 


276 


niH  LAST  THROW 


o 


/ / 


The  Zeppelin  Bag 

Here  the  artist  has  depicted  the  Kaiser  in  one  of  his  favourite 
roles,  that  of  a sportsman.  In  pre-war  times  it  was  one  of 
“The  All  Highest’s”  chief  ambitions  to  be  taken  for  an  Eng- 
lish sportsman!  We  believe  there  were  people  in  those  now  seemingly 
remote  days  who  took  him  at  his  own  valuation  in  this  regard.  Our 
picture  ])apers  were  full  of  photographs  of  him  shooting  at  this  or  that 
nobleman's  estate,  lunching  after  the  morning’s  battue,  in  the  act  of 
shooting,  inspecting  the  day’s  “bag,’’  etc.;  and  other  pictures  were 
reproduced  from  the  (ierman  papers  from  time  to  time  of  a similar 
character  showing  him  as  a sportsman  in  his  native  land. 

There  is  still,  thank  God,  something  clean  about  British  sport  and 
sportsmen  of  which  the  Kaiser  never  caught  the  inwardness  and  spirit. 
It  h as  come  out  on  the  l)attlelields  to-day  as  it  has  on  those  of  past 
generations.  It  has  taught  the  British  soldier  to  tight  clean,  and  even 
chivalrously  though  the  foe  may  be  a past  master  in  “knavish  tricks,” 
and  steeped  in  unspeakable  methods  of  cruelty  in  warfare. 

How  thin  the  veneer  of  a sportsmanship  was  upon  the  Kaiser, 
which  is  after  all  but  symbolic  of  the  higher  and  sterner  virtues,  all 
the  world  has  had  a chance  of  judging.  And  in  this  remarkable  and 
arresting  drawing  the  genius  of  the  artist  has  taken  and  used  a sporting 
incident  with  telling  and  even  horrifying  effect. 

In  the  old  days  it  was  pheasants,  partridges,  grouse,  hares,  rab- 
bits, and  other  feathered  game,  with  the  nobler  stags  and  boars  that 
formed  “the  Butcher  of  Potsdam’s  ‘bag.’”  To-day  he  has  his 
battues  i)y  proxy  on  sea,  land,  and  from  the  air.  Thousands  of  vic- 
tims, as  innocent  as  the  feathered  folk  he  slaughtered  of  yore;  and 
women  and  little  children  form  the  chief  items  of  the  bag;  and  es- 
pecially is  this  true  of  the  “fruit  of  the  Zeppelin  raids.” 

lie  counts  the  bag  and  rewards  the  slayers  of  the  innocent  as  he 
doubtless  did  the  beaters,  huntsmen,  and  keepers  of  the  estates  over 
which  he  formerly  shot.  It  has  been  his  ambition  to  make  Europe 
one  vast  Kaiserdom  estate.  But  the  sands  are  running  out,  and  each 
“bag,”  whether  by  Zeppelin  or  submarine,  serves  but  to  stiffen  the  backs 
of  the  Allies  and  horrify  neutral  nations.  Some  day  the  accumulated 
horrors  of  the  Kaiser’s  ideas  of  sj)ortsmanship  will  have  taught  the 
latter  the  lesson  that  Kaiserdom  with  luirope  as  a Kaiser  estate  means 
the  death  of  liberty,  the  extinction  of  the  smaller  nations,  and  the 
setting  up  of  a despotism  as  cruel  as  that  of  Attila  and  his  Huns  the 
self-accepted  and  preached  examples  of  William  II  of  Germany. 

CLIVE  HOLLAND. 


278 


niE  ZEfTFUN  RAG 


279 


^^Come  in,  Michael,  I Have  Had 
a Long  Sleep"’ 

Yes — a long  and  rejuvenating  sleep!  The  expression  upon 
John’s  face  indicates  an  amazing  determination  and  alertness. 
It  is  told  of  certain  remarkable  men — De  Lesseps  amongst 
the  number  that  they  had  the  faculty  of  sleeping  for  several  days 
and  nights  and  then  remaining  wide  awake  and  at  full  tension  for  an 
equally  long  period  of  time.  We  may  conlidently  ])redict  that  John 
has  this  faculty.  lie  is  not  likely  to  slumber  again  till  his  work  is 
done,  and  done  thoroughly.  Michael’s  expression,  I regret  to  note,  is 
not  quite  so  pleasing  as  John’s.  It  gives  “furiously  to  think,”  as  our 
gallant  and  beautiful  France  puts  it,  that  when  Michael  climbs  through 
the  window  of  the  Happy  Fatherland,  he  may,  perchance,  inspire 
terror  in  the  heart  of  the  Ilun,  who  doubtless  expects  that  his  enemies, 
if  they  do  invade  the  sacred  soil,  will  display  those  Christian  qualities 
of  Mercy  and  Forliearance  which  have  been  so  conspicuous,  by  their 
alisence,  in  the  treatment  of  unfortunate  prisoners  upon  whom  they 
inflicted  the  extreme  rigour  of  “Kultur.” 

Our  cartoonist,  it  will  be  noticed,  has  placed  sledge  hammers 
in  the  hands  of  both  John  and  Michael,  rather  primitive  weapons, 
but  most  admirably  adapted  for  “crushing.”  And  nothing  short  of 
crushing  will  satisfy  the  Allies,  despite  the  futile  wiles  and  whines  of 
Messrs.  Trevelyan,  Ponsonby,  Morel,  and  Macdonald.  Crushed  they 
will  and  must  lie  to  fine  powder.  The  hammer  strokes  are  falling  now 
with  a persistence  and  force  which,  at  long  last,  reverl)erates  in  the 
cafes  and  beer  gardens  of  Munich  and  Berlin.  The  Teuton  tongue — 
a hideous  concatenation  of  noise  at  its  best — must  be  almost  inarticu- 
late to-day  in  its  guttural  chokings  and  splutterings.  “Frightful- 
ness” is  coming  home  to  roost. 

With  all  our  hearts  we  hold  out  the  glad  hand  to  Michael. 

Come  in,  and  stay  in — bless  you! 

HORACE  ANNESLEY  VACHELL. 


280 


•■COMt-:  IN,  .MICHAFI..  I THINK  I'.M  AWAKK  NOW 


■iSl 


Five  on  a Bench 


' L visions  and  poems  of  justice  have  l)een  full  of  the  refrain  of 


deposuit  potentes  de  sede;  l)ut  the  bracing  reality  of  such  a 


revolution  is  lost  l)y  certain  effects  of  antiquity,  by  the  mists 
which  make  the  past  somewhat  monochrome,  and  by  the  exalted 
equality  of  death.  To  say  that  Belisarius  became  a beggar  means 
little  to  us  when  it  seems  only  the  difference  between  a rich  and  a 
tattered  toga.  We  do  not  picture  Belisarius  in  a patched  pair  of 
trousers:  but  then  we  have  no  reason  to  be  angry  with  Belisarius. 
But  whenever  real  tyranny  and  honest  wrath  are  reborn  among  men, 
there  will  always  l)e  an  instant  necessity  to  represent  the  great  reversal 
in  the  graphic  colours  of  contemporary  fact.  Raemaekers’  cartoon, 
representing  the  tyrants  of  Europe  reduced  to  that  very  hopeless 
modern  l)cggary  to  which  they  have  driven  many  thousands  of  very 
much  l)etter  men,  is  perhaps  of  all  his  pictures  the  most  grim,  or  what 
would  be  called  vindictive.  I think  that  such  revenge  is  in  truth 
merely  realization.  The  victims  of  the  war  have  to  sit  on  such  real 
benches  in  such  real  rags.  And  being  one  of  the  fiercest,  it  is  also 
one  of  the  most  delicate  of  the  Dutch  artist's  studies.  Nothing  could 
be  truer  than  the  insolent  and  swollen  decay  of  the  .Jew  Ferdinant;  or 
the  more  effeminate  collapse  of  the  Kaiser,  the  very  spike  on  whose 
helmet  droops  with  sentiment. 


G.  K.  CHESTERTON. 


282 


FIVE  ON  A BENCH 
In  a year  and  a half. 


283 


What  About  Peace,  Lads? 

WAR  so  certain  of  their  own  prophets  have  said — is  a “national 
industry  of  Germany.”  Here  we  see  a German  chevalier 
d" induslrie  attempting  to  escape  with  his  swag.  Never  in 
modern  times  has  a nation  gone  to  war  with  a more  cynical  and 
shameless  determination  to  make  the  campaign  pay  for  itself  by  the 
plunder  of  private  property.  Quite  recently  an  order  was  found 
on  the  body  of  a German,  enjoining  all  officers  to  assist  in  the  “patri- 
otic duty”  of  “draining  financially  the  occupied  territories.”  We  are 
dealing,  not  with  an  honoural)le  and  civilized  nation,  but  with  a band 
of  murdering  brigands.  The  keepers  of  the  national  conscience 
have  devised  a monstrous  and  barbarous  code  of  ethics,  in  which 
“patriotism”  is  the  sole  duty,  and  the  tribal  god  the  only  arbiter  of 
right  and  wrong.  As  in  Roman  law,  the  property  of  an  enemy  is  for  a 
German  res  nulUus — it  has  no  owner.  And  now  the  prospect  of  any 
further  loot  on  a large  scale  seems  remote.  The  speculation  has 
fumed  out  l)adly,  and  the  robber  would  be  glad  to  cut  his  losses. 
The  guardians  of  the  law  are  at  his  heels,  and  do  not  mean  to  let  him 
escape.  Rut  will  they  l)e  able  to  make  him  disgorge?  That  will  not 
be  easy;  and  whal  atonement  can  be  made  for  the  innocent  blood 
which  drops  from  those  i)itiful  spoils? 

W.  R.  INGE. 


284 


] 


WIIA!'  ABOUT  PEACU,  I ADS? 


285 


The  Liberators 

This  is  one  of  those  cartoons  in  which  the  neutral  in  Raemaekers 
speaks  with  peculiar  force.  Such  a picture  by  a Britisher 
would  reasonably  be  discounted  as  unduly  prejudiced,  for  it  is 
none  too  easy  for  us  in  our  present  stresses  to  see  the  other  fellow’s 
point  of  view — in  this  difficult  business  of  the  blockade  for  an  instance. 

That  friendly  championing  of  the  rights  of  neutrals  suffering 
under  the  outrageous  tyranny  of  the  British  Navy  is  a thing  to  which 
only  the  detached  humour  of  a neutral  can  do  justice.  He  can  testify 
to  the  way  in  which  the  giant  strength  of  that  navy,  whether  in  peace 
or  war,  has  been  used  in  the  main  not  in  the  giants’  tyrannous  way; 
he  can  make  allowance  for  the  exigencies  which  have  caused  occa- 
sional arbitrariness  under  the  stress  of  war  or  even  in  some  untactful 
moment  of  peace;  he  can  contrast  the  two  main  opposing  navy’s 
notions  of  justice,  courtesy,  seamanship — which  is  sportsmanship. 

He  can  recall  that  no  single  right  whether  of  combatant  or  neu- 
tral, of  state  or  individual,  guaranteed  by  international  law,  which 
the  Germans  have  found  it  convenient  or  “necessary”  to  violate  has 
been  left  unviolated;  that  there  is  no  single  method  or  practice  of  war 
eondemned  by  the  common  consent  of  civilization  but  has  been 
employed  by  men  who  even  have  the  candour  to  declare  that  they 
stand  above  laws  and  guarantees. 

And  therefore  he  can  make  grim,  effective  fun  of  the  sinister 
bandit  with  his  foot  planted  on  the  shackled  prisoner  that  lies  be- 
tween two  murdered  victims  fatuously  taking  in  vain  the  name  of 
freedom. 

JOSEPH  THORP. 


286 


“Freedom  of  the  land  is  ours — why  should  we  not  have  freedom  of  the  sea  ? ” 


Tom  Thumb  and  the  Giant 

The  reference  in  this  cartoon  is  to  an  incident  which,  at  the 
time  of  its  occurrence,  is  said  to  have  caused  consideral)le 
indignation  in  Germany.  A Zeppelin,  having  been  on  a raid- 
ing expedition  to  hingland,  was  hit  on  the  return  journey,  and  dropped 
into  the  North  Sea.  The  crew,  clinging  to  the  damaged  airship, 
besought  the  captain  of  a British  trawler  to  take  them  off,  but  the 
captain,  seeing  that  the  Zeppelin  crew  far  outnumbered  his  own, 
declined  to  trust  them,  and  left  them  to  their  fate.  Whether  the 
trawler’s  captain  actually  “put  his  thumb  unto  his  nose  and  spread 
his  lingers  out”  is  a matter  for  conjecture,  but  under  the  circum- 
stances it  is  scarcely  likely. 

The  whole  point  lies  in  the  German  view  of  the  trawler’s  captain 
and  his  inhuman  conduct.  He  knew,  perfectly  well,  that  if  he 
rescued  the  crew  of  the  Zeppelin,  the  probable  reward  for  himself  and 
crew  would  be  a voyage  to  the  nearest  German  port  and  interment  in 
a prison  camp  for  the  remainder  of  the  war-  and  plenty  of  reliable 
evidence  is  forthcoming  as  to  the  treatment  meted  out  to  men  in 
German  prison  camps.  He  knew,  also,  that  these  men  who  besought 
his  aid  were  returning  from  one  of  the  expeditions  which  have  killed 
more  women  and  children  in  England  than  able-l)odied  men,  that  they 
had  been  sharing  in  work  which  could  not  be  described  as  even  of 
indirect  military  value,  but  was  more  of  the  nature  of  sheer  murder. 
And  Ciermany  condemned  his  conduct  by  every  adjective  that  implied 
brutality  and  barbarity. 

The  unfortunate  thing  about  the  Cierman  viewpoint  is  that  it 
takes  into  consideration  only  such  points  as  favour  Germany,  a fact 
of  which  this  incident  affords  striking  evidence. 

E.  GHARLES  VIVIAN. 


288 


T 


TOM  THUMB  AND  THE  GIANT 

‘Come  and  save  me.  You  know  1 am  so  fond  of  children. 


289 


''‘'JFe  Have  Finished  Off  the 
Russians” 

ASSUMING  that  the  statement  with  regard  to  finishing  off  the 
Russians  was  actually  written — and  there  is  every  reason  to 
^ assume  it — one  may  conjecture  what  memories  it  recalled. 
The  great  battles  of  the  Warsaw  salient,  the  drive  that  lasted  for 
many  months  through  the  flats  of  Poland,  the  struggles  of  the  Vilna 
salient,  and  all  the  time  the  knowledge  that  mechanism,  the  guns  in 
which  Germany  put  her  trust,  were  shattering  Russian  legions  day 
after  day.  Then  the  gradual  settling  of  the  eastern  line,  well  into 
Russia,  with  all  the  industrial  districts  of  Poland  firmly  gripped  in 
German  hands,  and  the  certainty  that  though  Russia  had  not  been 
utterly  broken  and  forced  to  a peace,  yet  so  much  had  been  accom- 
plished that  there  was  no  longer  any  eastern  menace,  but  both  Ger- 
many and  Austria  might  go  about  their  business  of  conquest  in  the 
west,  having  “finished  off”  in  the  east. 

But  that  strong  figure  with  the  pistol  pointed  at  the  writer,  that 
implacable,  threatening  giant,  is  a true  type  of  Russia  the  uncon- 
querable. It  is  a sign  that  the  guns  in  which  Germany  put  her  trust 
have  failed  her,  that  the  line  which  was  to  hold  firm  during  the  business 
of  conquest  in  the  west  has  broken — more,  it  is  a sign  of  the  doom  of  the 
aggressor.  The  writing  of  that  fat,  complacent  figure — sorry  imitator 
of  the  world’s  great  conquerors — is  arrested,  and  in  place  of  stolid 
self-conceit  there  shows  fear. 

Well-grounded  fear.  History  can  show  no  crimes  to  equal  the 
rape  of  Belgium  and  the  desolation  of  Poland  at  the  hands  of  Ger- 
many. The  giant  with  the  pistol  stands  not  only  as  a returned  war- 
rior, but  also  as  an  avenger  of  unspeakable  crimes. 

E.  CHARLES  VIVIAN. 


290 


W'E  HAVE  FINISHED  OEE  HIE  RUSSIANS. 
“W'ait  a moment.” 


291 


Muddle  Through 

although  this  striking  cartoon  of  Raemaekers  may,  since 
ZA  the  consummation  of  Lord  Derby’s  Scheme  and  the  raising 
I V of  the  new  armies,  be  said  to  have  lost  its  sting  it  cannot  be 
said  no  longer  to  have  a lesson. 

At  the  lime  of  ils  lirst  publication  the  sight  of  England  assailed 
by  the  central  Empires  bent  on  her  destruction  for  having  thrown  the 
weight  of  her  trident  and  her  sword  into  the  scales  on  the  side  of 
Justice  and  Right  against  Lawlessness  and  Might,  failed  to  evoke  in 
many  of  her  sons  the  spirit  of  patriotism  which  has  since  manifested 
itself  in  many  glorious  and  immortal  deeds. 

R was  difUcull  for  us  to  realize  that  we  were  at  war.  And  at  war 
not  merely  to  protect  the  weak  and  uphold  ideals  of  national  right- 
eousness, but  for  national  existence  itself.  The  doctrine  of  “muddle 
through”  was  not  confined  to  the  War  Office  and  other  Government 
Departments,  but  seemed  to  permeate  the  whole  nation  to  a lament- 
able extent.  In  the  cartoon  we  have  three  typical  men  with  that 
fatal  “business  (or  pleasure)  as  usual”  expression  on  their  faces. 
That  Germany  should  seek  to  wrest  the  trident  and  sovereignty  of 
the  seas  from  the  hand  of  Britain,  or  should  have  devastated  Belgium 
and  the  North  Eastern  Department  of  France  was  obviously  no 
personal  concern  of  theirs.  Let  the  other  chaps  fight  if  they  would. 

Happily  for  England  and  for  her  gallant  Allies  the  point  of  the 
cartoon  has  been  blunted,  if  not  entirely  destroyed,  by  subsequent 
events.  But  the  lesson?  It  is  not  far  to  seek.  Is  it  not  that  had 
“business  as  usual”  not  been  so  gladly  adopted  as  the  national 
creed  in  the  early  days  of  war,  we  might  have  been  happy  in  the 
blessings  of  Peace  by  now,  or  at  least  have  had  Peaee  much  nearer. 

We  do  not  envy  the  men  who  might  have  gone  but  who  stayed 
at  home  in  those  early  days,  when  their  earlier  presence  on  the  field 
of  battle  might  have  been  the  means  not  only  of  saving  many  thou- 
sands of  valuable  lives,  but  of  shortening  the  terrible  carnage.  It 
would  have  been  a thousand  times  better  had  the  mind  which  con- 
ceived the  phrase  “business  as  usual”  been  acute  enough  to  foresee  the 
possible  and  disastrous  misapplications  of  the  phrase.  Rather  would 
it  have  been  better  had  the  idea  crystallized  in  “Do  it  now.” 

CLIVE  HOLLAND. 


292 


E ,4 


MUDDLE  rilROUGlI 


293 


My  Enemy  Is  My  Best  Friend 

These  words  of  Emerson’s  express  exactly  the  thought  of  this 
cartoon.  The  Netherlands  is  a country  that  has  been  slowly 
won  from  the  ocean;  the  cruel  sea  has  always  been  its  enemy, 
at  lirst  completely  triumphant,  then  gradually  resisted  and  driven 
forth  by  the  enterprise  and  toil  of  men;  but  it  is  always  an  enemy  to 
be  dreaded.  Its  inroads  have  to  be  guarded  against  by  great  dykes 
and  by  the  never-ceasing  care  and  industry  of  the  nation.  Now  and 
again  the  Hoods  come,  and  people  barely  escape  in  boats  from  the 
waters.  Yet  time  and  again  the  enemy  has  been  the  best  friend  of  the 
Netherlands.  This  enemy  has  saved  them  from  the  domination  of 
Spain,  and  now,  as  the  refugees  on  the  floods  of  last  winter  are  escap- 
ing from  the  jaws  of  death  they  feel  that  the  water  which  is  now  an 
enemy  ivijand),  may  to-morrow  be  a friend  (vriend)-,  for  an  invasion 
by  the  Germans,  that  ever-dreaded  danger  to  all  patriotic  Dutchmen, 
can  be  guarded  against  only  by  the  friendly  help  of  the  ocean  which 
can  be  invoked  in  case  of  need  to  save  its  own  people.  It  was  only 
in  the  last  resort  that  William  the  Silent  consented  to  let  in  the  sea. 
lie  resisted  the  Spaniards  as  long  as  he  could,  and  only  when  all  pos- 
sible chance  of  further  resistance  was  at  an  end  did  he  have  recourse 
to  the  sea  as  the  last  friend.  He  saved  the  country  by  allowing  the 
German  Ocean  to  destroy  it.  In  this  cartoon  the  people  in  the  boats 
regard  the  sea  as  their  enemy;  but  an  invasion  by  Cierman  armies 
could  not  be  resisted  except  with  the  help  of  the  friendly  sea,  whose 
voice  is  the  voice  of  Freedom. 

WILLIAM  MITCHELL  RAMSAY. 


294 


I he  Floods  in  1 lolland—  now  a fiend, 


to-morrow  a friend. 


295 


How  I Deal  With  the  Small  Fry 

Perhaps  only  those  who  have  the  opportunity  of  reading  the 
papers  published  in  neutral  countries,  and  have  made  a study 
of  the  mendacious  “news  for  neutrals”  issued  by  the  noto- 
rious Woolf  Agency  and  German  Wireless  Bureau,  are  able  to  grasp 
the  powerful  inner  motive  which  actuates  Raemaekers  in  the  per- 
sistence with  which  he  seeks  to  drive  home  the  tragic  stories  of  Bel- 
gium and  Luxemburg.  At  this  time  of  day  it  might  seem  superfluous 
to  issue  a cartoon  of  this  kind.  But  is  it?  With  neutral  opinion  ap- 
parently by  no  means  convinced  as  yet  of  the  sinister  designs  of 
Prussianism  upon  the  liberties  of  Europe  and  especially  of  smaller 
nations  a drawing  of  such  poignancy  and  force  cannot  fail  to  arrest 
the  attention  and  bring  home  the  lesson  of  that  creed  which  has  for  its 
gospel  such  phrases  as  “Necessity  knows  no  law”  and  “Force  shall 
rule.”  R is  inconceivable  to  the  thinking  mind  that  there  can  be  a 
man  or  woman  who,  with  the  story  of  the  violation  of  Belgium  and 
Luxemburg  before  them,  can  possibly  hesitate  to  brand  the  German 
nation  with  the  mark  of  Cain,  and  tremble  at  the  mere  possibility 
that  might  should  triumph  over  right. 

Our  wonderment  is  all  the  greater  when  we  remember  how  the 
Kaiser  and  his  murderous  hordes  have  made  no  secret  of  their  methods. 
They  may  in  the  end  seek  to  deny  them,  to  repudiate  the  deeds  of 
l)lood  and  of  unholy  sacrilege  and  violence  which  in  the  early  days  of  war 
were  avowed  concomitants  of  their  policy,  but  such  disavowal  is  not  yet. 

Beneath  the  Kaiser’s  heel  in  bloody  reality  lie  at  the  present 
time  Belgium  and  unprotected  Luxemburg  every  whit  as  much  as  is 
shown  by  the  powerful  pencil  of  the  artist. 

The  reign  of  lust,  cruelty,  and  destruction  is  not  yet  done,  though 
the  signs  and  portents  of  the  end  are  not  now  a-wanting.  The  blood 
of  men,  women,  and  little  children  shall  not  cease  to  cry  aloud  for 
vengeance  until  the  Prussian  eagle  is  humbled  in  the  dust,  and  its 
power  for  evil  is  utterly  destroyed.  This  is  a good  cartoon  to  bear  in 
mind  and  look  upon  should  “War  weariness”  ever  overtake  one.  It 
will  be  a good  one  to  have  upon  one’s  wall  when  peace  talk  is  head 
in  the  land. 

Thomas  Moore  may  be  said  to  have  composed  an  epitaph  for 
Prussianism  three-quarters  of  a century  ago  when  he  wrote  the  lines: 

“Accursed  is  the  march  of  that  glory 
Which  treads  o’er  the  hearts  of  the  free.” 

A great  statesman  has  declared  “the  Allies  will  not  sheathe  the 
sword  until  Justice  is  vindicated.”  Let  us  add  “and  until  reparation 
is  exacted  to  the  uttermost  farthing  from  these  responsible  for  this 
bloody  contlict  and  its  diabolical  crimes,  whether  the  perpetrators  be 
high  or  low.” 

CLIVE  HOLLAND. 


296 


How  1 deal  with  the  small  fry. 


297 


The  Two  Eagl  es 

ADOUBLE-I^DGI^D  satire  on  both  political  birds.  Neither  is  [a 
true  eagle.  They  have  talons  but  nothing  of  the  noble  air 
pro])er  to  the  king  of  birds.  The  (ierman  bird  is  not  an  eagle 
but  a vulture;  and  he  is  in  a sorry  plight,  with  torn  and  rullled  feath- 
ers, dishevelled,  dripping  blood.  He  is  disappointed,  angry,  soured, 
and  unhappy.  Yet  he  is  straightforward  about  it.  He  makes  no 
attempt  to  disguise  his  feelings,  but  glares  at  the  other  with  the  indig- 
nation of  one  who  has  been  deceived  written  on  his  face  and  vibrating 
in  his  voice. 

And  his  rej^roach  gets  home.  The  American  bird,  who  is  bigger 
and  stands  on  a bigger  rock,  is  sleek  enough  except  about  the  head 
which  is  a bit  rullled.  Rut  he  is  more  of  a raven  than  an  eagle  in  his 
sable  plumes  of  professional  cut,  and  he  is  obviously  not  at  ease. 
He  does  not  look  the  other  in  the  face.  He  stares  straight  in  front 
of  him  at  nothing  with  a forced,  hard  and  fixed  smile,  obviously  as- 
sumed f)ecause  he  has  no  reply  to  make. 

During  the  war  many  indiscreet  phrases  have  dropped  from  the 
lips  of  prominent  ]:»ersons  who  must  bitterly  regret  them  and  wish 
them  buried  deep  in  oblivion.  But  they  stand  on  record,  and  history 
will  not  let  them  die.  “Too  proud  to  fight”  is  the  most  unfortunate 
of  all,  and  when  others  are  forgotten  it  will  remain,  because  it  has  a 
general  application.  Mr.  Raemaekers  exposes  its  foolishness  here 
with  a single  masterly  touch  and  he  puts  the  exposure  in  the  right 
mouth.  The  cartoon  is  an  illuminating  epitome  of  the  interminable 
exchange  of  notes  between  the  two  Powers  on  submarine  warfare. 

A.  SHADWELL. 


298 


‘‘  I thought  you  said  you  were  too  proud  to  fight.’ 


299 


London — Inside  the  Savoy 

AT  iV  first  glance  this  carloon  would  seem  to  imply  that  the 
people  inside  the  Savoy  had  little  interest  in  the  war,  for  the 
ligures  in  evening  dress  are  well  in  the  foreground;  a count  of 
heads,  however,  will  show  six,  and  possibly  seven  men  in  uniform 
and  only  four  in  civilian  attire,  and  of  the  soldiers  not  one  is  dancing — 
they  are  lookers-on  at  these  strange  beings  who  pursue  the  ordinary 
ways  of  life. 

Of  such  beings,  not  many  are  left  -certainly  not  this  proportion 
of  four  to  six,  or  four  to  seven.  Com])ulsion  has  thinned  the  ranks 
of  the  shirkers  down  to  an  irreducible  minimum,  and  a visit  to  the 
Savoy  at  any  time  in  the  last  six  months  of  1916  would  show  khaki 
entirely  preponderant,  just  as  it  is  in  the  streets.  These  correctly 
dressed  and  monocled  young  men  have  been  pul  into  the  national 
machine,  and  moulded  into  fighting  material — their  graves  are  thick 
in  Flanders  and  along  the  heights  north  of  the  Somme,  and  they  have 
proved  themselves  equal  and  superior  to  what  had  long  been  regarded 
as  the  finest  fighting  forces  of  Europe. 

It  is  in  reality  no  far  cry  from  the  Somme  fighting  area  to  the 
light  and  the  music  of  the  Savoy,  and  a man  may  dance  one  night 
and  die  under  a German  bullet  the  next — many  have  already  done  so. 
Here  the  artist  shows  the  lighter  side  of  British  life  to-day,  but  one  has 
only  to  turn  to  the  companion  cartoon  to  this,  “Outside  the  Savoy,” 
to  see  that  he  realizes  London  as  thoroughly  in  earnest  about  the  war. 

E.  CHARLES  VIVIAN. 


300 


I. ON  DON-  INSIDE  HIE  SAVO\ 


301 


London — Outside  the  Savoy 

TIII{  newsboy,  under  military  age;  one  man,  well  over  military 
age;  three  women  - and  all  the  rest  in  uniform  even  the  top 
of  the  bus  that  shows  in  the  distance  is  tilled  with  soldiers. 
Thus  Kaemaekers  sees  the  wStrand,  one  of  the  i)rincipal  thoroughfares 
of  the  heart  of  the  l^ritish  Kmpire. 

l"or  the  sake  of  eontrast  with  the  eompanion  cartoon,  “Inside 
the  Savoy,"  there  is  a slight  exaggeration  in  this  view  of  London 
street  life  in  war-time-  the  proportion  of  civilians  to  soldiers  is  neces- 
sarily greater  than  this,  or  the  national  life  could  not  go  on.  A host 
of  industries  are  necessary  to  the  prosecution  of  the  war,  and  it  falls 
to  some  men  to  stay  l)ehiiuk  many  of  them  unwillingly. 

ddiere  was  a time,  in  the  early  days,  when  Britain  suffered  from 
an  under-estimate  of  the  magnitude  of  this  task  of  war — a time  which 
the  cartoon  “Inside  the  Savoy"  typifies  in  its  presentment  of  careless 
enjoyment.  But  that  attitude  was  soon  disj)elled,  and  it  is  significanl 
of  the  spirit  of  the  nation  that  only  when  nine-tenths  of  the  necessary 
army  had  been  raised  by  voluntary-  indeed,  this  is  a certainty,  for 
not  until  long  after  the  cartoon  was  published  did  any  conscripts 
appear  in  the  streets.  Though,  in  the  proportion  of  soldiers  to  civil- 
ians, the  cartoon  may  exaggerate,  in  its  presentment  of  the  spirit  of 
the  nation,  and  of  the  determination  of  the  nation  with  regard  to  the 
war,  it  is  true  to  life. 

E.  CHARLES  VIVIAN. 


302 


l.()NI)()N~  ()L  rSIDF--  I lib.  SA\'()V 


303 


The  Invocation 

THIS  drawing  touches  the  liighest  level  of  the  draughtsman’s 
art  and  demonstrates  the  unique  power  of  the  pencil  in  a 
master  hand.  So  simple,  so  true,  so  complete,  so  direct  and 
so  eloquent  is  the  message  that  words  can  add  nothing  to  it.  They 
can  only  pay  a tribute  of  appreciation. 

Iwerybody  can  read  the  meaning  at  a glance;  none  can  read  it 
wholly  unmoved.  For  here  is  pure  humanity,  which  none  can  escape, 
the  primal  instinct  without  which  man  that  is  born  of  woman  would 
not  be.  Before  this  weak,  bowed,  and  homely  lignre  Knowledge  is 
silent.  Pride  and  Passion  are  rebuked.  Strength  is  shamed.  Mother- 
hood and  mother-love  transcend  them  all. 

There  is  here  nothing  of  anger,  no  thought  of  hostility  or  revenge, 
no  trace  of  evil  passion.  Only  a mother  yearning  after  her  son  and 
})leading  to  another  mother,  the  Divine  type  of  motherhood,  the 
Mother  of  God.  And  what  she  asks  is  so  little,  only  to  see  him  again. 
She  has  given  him,  as  the  mother  to  whom  she  prays  gave  her  Son, 
and  she  does  not  demand  him  back.  She  reproaches  no  one,  accuses 
no  one,  makes  no  complaint  and  no  claim  for  herself,  but  meekly 
pleads  that  she  may  be  allowed  to  see  him  again  to  still  the  longing  in 
her  breast.  She  is  a woman  of  the  people,  a sim])le  ])easant,  but  she 
personifies  all  mothers  in  every  war,  as  she  bows  her  silvered  head 
in  humble  prayer  at  the  way-side  shrine. 

A.  shad\\t:ll. 


304 


MON  MI  S ni'LGIUM,  1914 

" l et  me  see  him  again,  Holy  Virgin!” 


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